The Hunger Glee Games
by GirlInTheMirror121
Summary: My first big crossover! It's Glee meets The Hunger Games in a showdown I like to call The Hunger Glee Games. Damian McGinty is a sixteen-year-old boy living in District Ten. He wants to save his family's farm, and the only way is to compete in the annual Hunger Games...and come out alive. Original 12 New Directions members and original 12 Glee Project members. T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games. **

**Note: Okay, so here's my next big project, and I do mean big. I'm not sure if this exact thing has been done before, but I'm officially crossing over Glee with The Hunger Games. The twenty-four contestants will be the twelve ORIGINAL (season one) New Directions members and the twelve ORIGINAL (season one) Glee Project members. It will pretty much follow the Hunger Games setup but from a different district's perspective. I hope you like! Review and let me know!**

**Chapter 1**

I stare at the cow. It stares back at me. It knows I have to bring it to the slaughter now. I don't want to. I never really want to bring an animal to its death, but we have to eat, and this cow is getting old anyway. Its hide will be good for clothing and furniture coverings. Its meat I can sell in the market. I'm sure they will give me a good price today, as tomorrow is the Reaping. The cow stares at me some more. I can see nothing in her old, tired eyes. I think she wants death. I think she knows that she is old and useless, that she is no longer producing good milk. I used to take her milk to make cheese and other fresh dairy products to sell. But now, she is sadly too old to carry on, and what must be done has to be done. I take her by her reins and bring her to the slaughterhouse, where my father will kill her.

I don't like to watch the life leave their eyes.

I will wait until they are already dead and their eyes are closed before I will re-enter the slaughterhouse, where I will help my father butcher and clean the meat for selling. My mother is the one who churns the milk into butter and cream. We will need to produce overtime on our farm for the Reaping.

I bring the old cow to my father. "Here she is."

"Thank you, Damian." He leads her away, and I dart back outdoors, breathing in the clean air and trying to exhale the stench of dying animals that surrounded me.

Perhaps I should explain things first.

My name is Damian McGinty. I live in Panem, in the ruins of a country that used to be called America. Since its rebuild, they have divided us into twelve districts that surround a Capitol. I have never seen beyond the boundaries of District Ten. Each district is responsible for one thing that supplies the other districts, as well as the Capitol. District Ten's specialty is livestock, hence why many of the families here have farms. It's not one of the nicer districts, like District One, but it is not nearly as poor as District Twelve.

There used to be a District Thirteen.

The tale goes like this: all of the districts lived in peace, none really interacting with the other. There were talks of uprisings, but no one really took heed to these.

But then District Thirteen rose up against the Capitol.

Needless to say, the Capitol did not like that.

To say they are controlling is an understatement.

They blew District Thirteen to smithereens. Nothing is there anymore, just rubble. But ever since, the Capitol has forced one boy and one girl from each of the remaining twelve districts to compete in their annual Hunger Games.

See, the Capitol folks live nicely. They have beautiful homes and plenty of food to go around.

The rest of us? Not so much. We barely have enough food to live by, especially in the poorer districts, and our homes are less than adequate.

Hence, the need to compete in the Hunger Games.

They send twenty-four kids—well, teenagers, that is to say—into an arena.

Twenty-four go in, one comes out.

There are two bowls, see, one for girls and one for boys. Once a year, every year, one boy and one girl is chosen from Ten to compete in the Hunger Games.

Did I mention that the winner of the Games gets a lifetime of fame and fortune?

They will never go hungry again.

That is why I must do this, to have my name in that bowl.

So far, my family has been lucky. My older sister and brother both managed to escape the Games, and they are married now, starting families of their own.

I want to do this for my parents.

I want to do this for my future nieces and nephews.

I want them all to remember my name.

I turn around; my father is calling me back inside. The old cow is dead, and now I must take her meat to the market to be sold. Seeing as how the Reaping—the event, nay, the ceremony where the contestants are selected at random—is tomorrow, I must sell early to prepare. There will be a banquet, I am sure, as there always is.

The poorer your family, the more pieces of paper that have your name on it are in that bowl. Additionally, one more paper will be added each year until you are eighteen.

There are fifteen pieces of paper that read my name in there this year.

My father pats me on the back, and I run down the path that separates the slaughterhouse and stables from our home. I wave to my mother through the window before heading down the dirt road to the marketplace.

I see all of their faces.

They all look frightened, all of the parents.

I cannot imagine it, sending your child—sometimes, your only child—into the arena, unsure if they would be coming back alive or not. They would have trouble sleeping tonight, unable to rest peacefully until they were sure their children were safe another year.

I also cannot imagine competing against your own brother or sister.

It has happened before.

I could never kill Gemma, my older sister. I couldn't even bear to be in that same arena as her.

I'd kill myself before I could kill her.

I am not a coward, but family means everything to me.

I scan the faces of the children. For some of them, it will be the first year that they are eligible to compete in the Games. It must be terrifying for them. Some of them seem so small, so impossibly small and young. I try to figure out which ones of us will be the chosen ones, the unlucky and unfavored ones.

"May the odds ever be in your favor".

Yeah, right.

I get a good price on the meat, as I'd expected, and I allow myself to linger in the district square. The faces pass me, all of them more or less the same. I see so many others go by, all with dark, dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes.

Not everyone in Panem looks the same.

However, everyone in their individual district does.

I've only ever seen them on the televisions when the Games are broadcast annually.

You know what I said before about parents having to send their kids off to the arena?

They also have to watch them die. On television.

It sounds terrible, but it's all I know.

Welcome to my life.

**To be continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Wow, thanks for the great feedback last time! Glad you're enjoying it so far. I will probably be posting every other day once my other story, Losing My Religion, is complete. Keep reading and don't be afraid to leave a review!**

**Chapter 2**

I don't want to go to the Reaping tomorrow. I really don't.

But there are no exceptions. We all must go, all of us, whether we want to or not.

I sit down to supper with my parents. There are several moments of silence. "So, are you excited about the Reaping tomorrow?" My mother asks.

I give her a long look. "How can I be?"

"Oh, I know you hate watching the Games," she says, "but what are the odds of you getting chosen?"

"Fifteen," I remind her. "I have fifteen papers in there."

I think I see my father flinch out of the corner of my eye. "That's not too bad," she says brightly. "I'm sure you won't get chosen. Your brother and sister weren't, after all, nor were your father and I."

"Watch me be the only exception," I mumble, staring down at my menial plate of food. I really don't feel like eating tonight. It's the sixteenth Games since I've been alive, and for as long as they've been around, I still don't enjoy them. I think the older you get and see how terrible they really are, the more open your eyes get to the world, the more I hate watching kids go in there and kill other kids, especially ones who I know from District Ten. It's one thing to see complete strangers die, but it's another to see someone you know and go to school with get brutally murdered on television.

The table falls silent again. "Thank you for helping me this morning," my father says.

"You're welcome," I reply.

An agonizing moment of silence. "I know you don't like when I kill them," he goes on.

I shrug. "It was fine. As long as I don't think about it, I am okay."

He nods. You can cut the tension in this room with a knife. A thought strikes me: what if this is the last meal I ever eat with my parents? I can tell that they're thinking the same thing, because neither of them will quite look at me. "Excuse me," I mutter, pushing my chair back from the table and heading out the door. I run to the stables, where my horse, Sadie, awaits. "Hey, girl," I pet her nose and saddle her up. I need this right now; I need to go and ride and be free. I swing myself over her chestnut brown body and lead her out of the barn, commanding her into an immediate gallop. We ride and ride, all the way to the electric fence that separates Ten from the other districts. I close my eyes and feel her moving under me, wanting to just spread my arms wide and get that sensation of flying again. The air around me is electric with the impending excitement of the Games. I can feel it even as my family's farm disappears behind me, smaller and smaller from sight. Sadie knows exactly where she is going. We come to a stop in front of the fence.

I don't know what lies beyond that fence. I've never been there. No one dares to; the fence is charged with electricity, and to touch it would surely mean death.

I wonder, would it be quicker and less shameful than dying in the Games?

I've seen awful deaths, such brutal and painful ways to die. I've seen them get speared to death, poisoned, drowned, burned alive.

I've seen people form alliances and turn on each other and stab each other in the back-literally.

What do they see before their eyes as they lay dying?

I hitch Sadie to a nearby post and lay down in the grass. I stare up into the darkening sky. Stars begin to come out. I'll bet there are people who can navigate by the stars, and I know that this would come in handy in the Games.

I don't have any talents.

I'm sure that if I am chosen, I will die within the first ten minutes.

I close my eyes, my face to the wind, to the sky. Everything in the Games is controlled, even down to the rising moon and setting sun. I wonder what it is like to have absolute control over something or somebody, like the Capitol has.

The sky grows darker still. I must have been laying there for an hour before I realize I should be heading back home. My parents must be growing worried, and if I am to be chosen, I should have a good night's sleep.

A good night's sleep before the Games, what a joke.

I untie Sadie and we head back home. I lock her up in the stable before slowly going back into the house. "Where were you?" My mother demands.

I shrug. "Went for a ride with Sadie."

"Why?"

I look down at the floor. "Needed to clear my head."

"Worried about tomorrow?" I am silent. She knows. How can she be so calm at a time like this? "Damian, I-"

"I don't want to talk about it," I push past her and run upstairs to my small bedroom. I shut the door behind me, closing her out, and flop down on my bed, still in my day clothes. I bury my face into my pillow.

Sleep does not come for me tonight.

**To be continued…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Well, I'm quite pleased by the reactions to this so far. This will have 27 chapters total, quite like the books in the Hunger Games trilogy. Therefore, you're in for the long haul, readers. Anyway, so here we go with the Reaping. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 3**

It's the day of the Reaping. I don't want to be here. It's the same as always: girls to one side, boys to the other. I didn't eat breakfast this morning; I didn't have an appetite. I still don't, really. This could very well be the last time I ever see District Ten again.

What if it is?

What if I get chosen, right here, right now?

I look around at my fellow peers as we await the arrival of some of the Games officials. Some of the boys seem confident, ready to go to arms if they are chosen. Some of the younger ones look absolutely terrified, and I pray that it isn't one of them. They are much too young to die so cruelly. I wrap my arms around my body, trying to shrink away from the crowd as much as I can. It's no use; I can feel all of their eyes on me. On us, the children in Ten who are old enough to fight. On the brothers and sisters too young to go to the Games, on the parents petrified that their children will be called away.

Finally, finally, a fanfare is sounded, and we all direct our attention on the makeshift stage. The person in charge of our District this year is Effie Trinket. These such people, I suppose you could call them our public relations representatives, rotate through the Districts each year. They all hope they get District One or Two and despise when they get Twelve. I suppose Ten isn't too bad entirely, but Effie is probably wishing she had gotten a better lot than us scruffy livestock folks. She steps in front of a microphone and begins to speak. "Happy Hunger Games, everyone!" A smattering of applause rises from the crowd, as we know that the Games are anything but happy. "It's time to select the tributes from District Ten who will go and represent this…wonderful…District in this year's Annual Hunger Games. Let's start with the ladies, shall we?" She digs her bony fingers into the bowl of names on the left and selects one. "Lindsay Pearce."

This name, I am familiar with. It is one of my classmates, a girl with raven hair and piercing blue eyes, so much like the rest of us. Her family's farm is bigger and better off than mine is. She narrows those eyes of hers and marches towards the stage, trying to keep her cool, though I know she must be trembling on the inside. I cross my fingers, praying I don't get chosen to compete alongside her and work with her to win it for Ten. I do not care for her very much, as she's always trying to be friends with me, perhaps more than friends, but I do not have any interest in such an ambitious person. She only seems to care for herself at times, and it irks me.

Effie Trinket moves on to the second bowl, the one with my name in it on fifteen slips of paper. "And now, for the boys," she announces. She digs deeper into this one, grabbing a paper from the bottom of the glass. "Damian McGinty."

No.

_No._

No no no no no no no no _no_.

This isn't happening.

This is _not_ happening to me right now.

It's a nightmare come true.

Everyone has turned and is now staring at me.

But I am frozen. I cannot move. I cannot breathe or think or do anything else but stand there and hope that any moment, my mother will be shaking me awake.

They're all looking at me expectantly. I am supposed to be walking up onto that stage right now. But I can't make my feet go. Someone behind me pushes me forward gently and I remember how to walk again. Slowly, as if time has stopped around me, I climb the stairs and join Lindsay and Effie on the stage.

"Well, here they are, your two District Ten tributes!" Effie proclaims. The crowd cheers, but I see my mother looking terrified towards the back of the crowd. My father is trying to console her, but he, too, looks astounded—a look of grief passes across his face in a brief, fleeting moment. I try to spot my brother and sister, but am whisked away alongside Lindsay to the government building.

Will we be able to say goodbye?

They bring her to one room and me to another. These guards explain to me that I will have an hour to say goodbye to my family before I must board a train to the Capitol.

The Games start in two weeks.

My parents and brother and sister are shown into the room, and my mother bolts towards me, folding me in her arms. "Why?" She murmurs. "Why?"

"I am ready," I tell her, but I do not mean it at all. "I will fight for you, for us."

She holds me tighter. "I am so afraid of losing you."

My sister sits next to me. "You will be in our thoughts, every day."

"Yes," my brother, Emmett, adds. "We'll be right there, watching."

"Watching me die?" I bite back.

My mother stifles a sob. I know I have said the wrong thing, but I also know that I will not last long in these horrid Games. They, like all the other parents of the children before me, will have to watch me, their son, die on television, unable to be there when it happens.

Sometimes, the bodies are not brought back.

I wonder how it will happen, how I will die, how bad it will be for these four family members of mine, whom I love so dearly, to watch.

I wonder if anyone else in Ten besides them will cry.

I wonder if anyone else will miss me.

I wonder if I will even be remembered.

The hour passes all too quickly, and they are escorted away, all of them in tears, even my strong father. Lindsay is brought into the room, and we sit as far away from each other as we can, although I can tell that she wants to sit next to me. "How are you?"

"Okay," I reply. "How are you?"

"Anxious," she admits. "I kind of just want to get it over with."

"I know what you mean. I sort of want to die already."

Her eyes widen. "Do you not think you have a chance?"

"Against the Careers? No, I do not. Why, do you?"

She bristles. "Perhaps," she says, just a little bit haughtily.

I roll my eyes. "At least we will get to live the glamorous life for a little while."

"This is true. It'll be nice, getting to see the Capitol and be on television. Think about it; we'll be famous!"

"Is that all you care about?" I am being rude, but I do not care.

"Well, no, but…"

"We've just lost everything, Lindsay. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Damian…"

"We've lost our homes, our families, our freedom…and soon, we will be losing our lives."

"Of course that means _something_," she says exasperatedly.

"Look, just because you are wealthier than me does not mean you-" I do not get to finish my sentence, as they are escorting us to the awaiting train. I take one last look around District Ten.

This may just be the last time I see it, after all.

**To be continued…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games. I only own John Taylor. **

**Note: Sorry if this is a day or two late! Hope you enjoy it anyway. I'll post a list of the tributes in the next chapter. Keep reviewing and reading this; please and thank you.**

**Chapter 4**

I am on the train that will take me and Lindsay to the Capitol. She seems to be keeping her cool. I, however, am a wreck. I do not cry in front of Effie or in front of John Taylor, a previous victor from District Ten who is to be our mentor. I save it all for when I am in my bedroom, late at night. I am ready for death, but yet, I am not ready for it at all. I am only sixteen, still a child, and now I have to become a man in less than two weeks' time. John has been telling me about the Games he was in. He is forty-nine by now, and was seventeen when he won. He tells me about the arena, how it was for him.

"Water," he says. "It was all water, more or less, with various islands scattered about. I was sure that the tributes from the fishing district would win it, but I managed to beat them at their own game."

"How?" I ask.

His eyes grow distant. I can tell that he is being called back to some of his darkest memories, the ones he's tried to forget. "Most of the people in those Games drowned. Very few were killed in a violent nature. The last one…I harpooned him."

I gasp. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," John says. "I'll never forget the moment the final cannon boomed, signifying my victory. It was such a relief, and yet…I knew that I was a killer. I had no hand in the ones who drowned. The only one I had a direct hand in…was that one. Victory had never tasted so bittersweet. It was nice to come out as the survivor, but at the same time…"

"You never expected to kill a man," I finish for him.

He slowly shakes his head. "I never considered myself a killer. But in the Games, no one can survive by being nice all the time. Being nice will get you murdered in a millisecond. Be careful about whom you form an alliance with, Damian. Be careful whom you confide in. Even Lindsay," he turns around to look at where she is chatting with Effie, "can stab you in the back at any moment. Trust no one but yourself."

"People go mad, don't they?" I ask him.

"They do," he affirms. "Especially when it comes down to the last four or five tributes. I've seen people brutally hacked to pieces by people they called 'friend', people from their own District, people they grew up with and went to school with."

"I just can't kill anyone," I put my chin on my knees, which are drawn to my chest.

"I said the same thing," John stares out the train window. "But things change now, don't they? In the arena, no one really knows what they are capable of."

Later, I go into one of the train cars that has nothing but couches and windows. It is dark, and I try to see the stars in the night sky, but I cannot. If I can see them, perhaps they will remind me of home.

Home, which I will never see again.

Lindsay, dressed in white and looking very much like a ghost, joins me by my side. "Hi."

"Hello," I try to be polite.

"Are you scared?"

I stare straight ahead. "Are _you_?"

She pauses, playing with the ends of her hair. "Yes," she finally admits.

"Of what?"

She folds her legs underneath her, sitting back on her heels. She pulls her hair back behind her ears. "Dying."

I am surprised. I turn my face towards her, but by now, she is also looking out the window. "You are afraid of death?"

"Yes. I am afraid that it will hurt. If I am to die, I want it to be painlessly. I do not want to feel it. Do you know what I mean?"

I clear my throat. "I do."

She faces me. "What are you afraid of the most?"

"The same as you. Mostly of my parents watching me die. I do not want them to see that, nor my brother and sister. I love them too much for them to see me…like that."

She is silent for several long moments, and her blue eyes meet my own. "Can I tell you a secret?"

I remember what John has told me. I should not be trusting her like this. And for that matter, she should not be trusting me. After all, I can use this against her later on. I could use this secret to get her killed.

But I cannot kill even her like that.

"Tell me," I say from my heart.

"It is more of an apology," she explains. I am confused, and she must see so in my face, for she continues on. "I am sorry if I ever got on your nerves when we were growing up. I just…I kind of just wanted to be your friend, and I didn't know how to approach you. I can tell, though, that you do not care much for me." She casts her eyes downwards. "I do not care for the fame that we will get all that much. I just said that to lighten the mood a little bit. Truth be told, I did not know how to react to, as you said, losing everything."

I nod. "I accept your apology. Yes, you did rather annoy me in our schooling years, but now I can see that you are not…entirely…bad." I do not understand something, though, and I tell her so. "Why are you telling me this now?"

She stands up. "If we are to die in less than two weeks, we will not have many chances—nor moments alone together—to have these types of conversations. I felt the need to clear the air before we depart from this world."

I look up at her. She looks otherworldly in her white nightgown and pale skin that contrasts so sharply with her raven hair. "All is forgiven, Lindsay."

She gives me a tiny smile. "Goodnight, Damian." She leans down and kisses my cheek softly, so light that I barely feel it, and then she is gone.

I lean my head against the window. My heart is heavy tonight. I do not want Lindsay to die. I do not want anyone in these Games to die.

Except for me. I deserve to die. I am afraid of it, but I want it to come.

It will not take us long to reach the Capitol, perhaps a day or two more at this point. That is where our real training begins, as well as our first public appearances on television. I don't quite wonder what it will look like, as I have seen it before on television, but I wonder how the crowds will react to me. I wonder if I will have any sponsors—people from the outside that send you gifts in the arena to help you survive longer. I wonder if anyone will cheer for me or place bets on my survival. I wonder if the committee will be impressed by me or regard me as a joke and send me on my way to death.

I have not slept for days. The beds here are plush and luxurious, much more luxurious than I have ever thought possible. But I do not sleep. Not with all of these thoughts keeping me awake at night.

I have not eaten much, either. I know I must, to get my strength up before the Games, perhaps gain a few pounds, but I cannot. The food here is rich and what I have eaten is delicious, but I do not have an appetite for any of it. None of it appeals to me at all.

Perhaps I will get weaker.

If I get weaker, I will be easier to kill.

I fall asleep on the couch, pretending I am sleeping under the stars.

**To be continued…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Here's a list of the tributes by district, just so you know in advance, since some of the ones that die early on will just be mentioned in passing:**

**District One: Quinn and Finn (Glee)**

**District Two: Santana and Puck (Glee)**

**District Three: Mercedes and Matt (Glee)**

**District Four: Brittany and Kurt (Glee)**

**District Five: Tina and Mike (Glee)**

**District Six: Rachel and Artie (Glee)**

**District Seven: Hannah and Cameron (The Glee Project)**

**District Eight: Ellis and Matheus (The Glee Project)**

**District Nine: Emily and Bryce (The Glee Project)**

**District Ten: Lindsay and Damian (The Glee Project)**

**District Eleven: McKynleigh and Alex (The Glee Project)**

**District Twelve: Marissa and Samuel (The Glee Project)**

**Chapter Five**

Lindsay and I have been getting along better since our talk last night. We no longer snark at each other while at meals, and I have cut back on the eye-rolling when she is around.

John sits us down to talk to us together. "So, what are your talents?"

Lindsay and I look at each other. "Talents?" She ventures.

"You know. Something you're particularly good at, something that will give you an edge over everyone else in the arena. Perhaps you're good at tying ropes, or at a weapon of sorts…?"

"No," I murmur.

Lindsay is lost in thought. "I suppose I'm alright at creating fires," she muses. "I don't know what it is, but I can make a flare out of almost anything. Is that good?"

"It will certainly be good for keeping you warm and cooking food, but you have to be careful; sending up a flare is a way to target you, and it will give the other tributes reason and a chance to attack you," John warns her.

"At least you're good at something," I groan. "I don't have any talents."

"That's not true," she frowns. "You're great with animals."

"No I'm-" I start to protest, but John interrupts me.

"What do you mean, good with animals?" He directs this towards Lindsay.

"Oh, everyone in Ten can tell you that Damian has a way with animals. He knows how to comfort them. It's almost as if he knows their languages." She turns towards me. "I see you talk to your horse," she tells me. "And it's as if she understands you, what you're saying to her, although you're two different species."

I shrug. "So I'm good with animals. How would that possibly be of any service to me in the arena? I don't doubt that there will be at least a few animals there, but…" I trail off.

"That doesn't matter, we'll work around it," John says in a rushed tone. "Now, do either of you have a basic knowledge of plants?" I glance at Lindsay; she nods. I nod, too. "Good. You'll know, then, what is poisonous and what is safe to eat?" We nod in unison this time. "Excellent; this saves me the trouble of teaching you these things." He can sense the distance between the two of us, I can tell. "Do you mind my asking if you two were acquaintances prior to being selected?"

"Yes," Lindsay speaks up. "We are…were…in the same class at school."

"We just never really got along," I add. "But we talked things over last night, and whatever happened in the past between us is cleared up now."

John exhales. "Good. Now, I'm not saying that you two shouldn't form an alliance, but…well, I've seen worse than the pair of you to be honest, but…oh, I don't even know what I'm saying. The tribute I competed with from Ten died within the first hour of our Games. We weren't the best of friends—nearly enemies—and we didn't have the chance to clear the air before she died. So be thankful that you two have gotten that chance."

I meet Lindsay's bright eyes. "I am thankful," I say quietly.

"I am, too," she whispers. "I am, too."

Later that night, I hear a knock on my door. I sit up in bed. "Come in."

Lindsay slips into the room, closing the door behind her. "Hi."

"Hi," I shift myself into a more comfortable position.

She sits on the edge of my bed. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't sleep. I hope I didn't wake you."

"You didn't," I assure her. "I haven't been able to sleep much since the night before the Reaping, to tell you the truth."

She looks down at the carpet. "I wish they'd give us some sleep serum."

"They should," I agree with her. "If they want us to win this for our District, they should make sure we're well-rested beforehand, should they not?"

"Yes." She traces an unreadable pattern with her finger onto the bedspread.

"Lindsay, don't you have an elder brother?"

She looks up. "Yes, I do. You do as well, right?"

"And an elder sister," I confirm.

"I hated saying goodbye to him," she says quietly.

"I know what you mean."

Perhaps Lindsay and I had more in common than I thought we did.

"What is your horse's name?" She asks, and it jolts me from my thoughts.

"Sadie," I tell her. "She's my own horse."

"Sadie," she repeats. "What a pretty name. And you're so lucky, to have your own horse and be able to ride her whenever you like."

"Do you like horses?" I ask.

"I love them," her eyes light up a little. "But we don't have enough room to have one on our farm. It's large, yes, but we are mainly a dairy farm, and have no need for horses. What does it feel like, to ride one so freely like that?"

My heart warms, thinking about Sadie. "Amazing," I murmur. "It's almost as if…oh, it's kind of silly."

"No, tell me," she implores.

"It's almost as if I'm flying," I admit.

"Flying," she says almost reverently. "Do you think we'll feel that again before…?"

"I hope so," I say. "I hope it's the _last_ thing I feel."

"That would be ideal." She looks directly into my eyes. "Can I stay here tonight?"

"What, in this bed with me?" I don't know if I should be appalled or not, if this is even within the rules.

Do we have rules on this train, or can we do as we please as we travel towards our deaths?

We're to arrive at the Capitol tomorrow. This may be our only chance.

"Yes," I finally say, and she crawls up the bed so she is by my side. "May I just ask you something first?"

"Of course," she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Do you have…feelings…for me?"

She is quiet for a moment. "At one point, yes," she confesses. "But not anymore."

I feel badly. "Did you stop because I was so rude to you?"

"In a word, yes."

"Then why do you want to spend the night here, if you do not have romantic feelings towards me?"

"If we cannot sleep on our owns, maybe we can sleep when we're together," she reasons.

"It's worth a shot." I sigh a little inwardly. "Good night, Lindsay."

"Good night," she turns over so her back is facing me and shuts her eyes. I pull the blankets back over the both of us and settle in next to her.

I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know, it is morning.

Lindsay's arms are wrapped around me.

She is a beautiful girl, and she is in my bed with me.

Yet I feel nothing at all.

**To be continued…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Well, they're finally at the Capitol, haha. It's a while before we get to the arena, but it was like 100 pages before that happened in the book so there you go. Would it kill you guys who put this on favorite/alert to leave a review, though? **

**Chapter 6**

"Are you ready?"

I stare at the doors of the train. "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess. You?"

She swallows visibly. "Yes."

Effie Trinket comes to stand behind us. She puts a hand on each of our shoulders. "Well, we're almost there," she says all-too cheerfully.

I give Lindsay a Look. She stifles a giggle. Effie was infamous for her over-the-top fashion choices and excessive makeup. I shuddered to think that, if she looked like this, the other residents of the Capitol must be just as extreme, if not more. In the Districts, people tend to dress more simply, although in general the poorer the District the worse the people dressed. I don't understand how people in the Capitol can dress like this all the time, so bound in tight clothing and their faces painted. I much prefer our loose, practical clothing and unpainted facades. It all seems like an unnecessary mask. Perhaps it is to hide their insecurities. Are they even happy, looking like that and living in excess wealth? Are they as happy as people in the Districts, who have families and the bare necessities and, for the most part, a roof over their heads and bread on the table? I think not. Money cannot buy happiness. Nothing can buy happiness.

Happiness. Would I ever feel that again?

The train slows, and we are there. The doors slide open, and instantly, I am blinded by how utterly bright it is. The sun is a thousand times bigger and brighter here than it is in District Ten. I reel back, tumbling over Effie's feet. She clucks her tongue and hands each of us tributes a pair of dark glasses—sunglasses. We never really had much of a use for them in Ten, but it seems as if we are going to need them here. I slip mine on and at once things are better, the sun not as bright and blinding. We are escorted off the train and towards a series of buildings. My breath catches; these are impossibly tall structures, taller than the tallest tree in the woods, and are gleaming in the sun. I sneak a look over at Lindsay, who is gap-mouthed at the Capitol buildings. I nudge her, and she snaps out of her stupor, again falling into step with me.

Effie ushers us to a building in the center of it all. "This is where all the tributes stay until the Games," she explains as she guides us inside, John Taylor at our heels. "Everyone stays on their District floor." We look at her blankly. "That means you're on the tenth floor," she says with a little roll of her eyes. I feel embarrassed for not knowing this. In Ten, the highest building we have is only three stories. She all but pushes us into an elevator—something else I have never personally seen but have heard about—and presses a button marked with a 10. We travel up, up, up, a soft bell _ding_-ing between each floor we rise.

The doors open, and we are there.

It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The floors appear to be made of marble. In fact, many things appear to be made of marble. Lindsay immediately wanders into the kitchen area and marvels at how spotlessly clean everything is. I, on the other hand, search for the bedrooms. I find several, but there is one that just has to be mine, as the room is perfect. There is no other word for it. The rug is plush beneath my feet. The walls are of brown wood and remind me of home. I swear I can smell the familiar farm smells of manure and grass and animals all around me. The bed is even larger than the one I slept in on the train and is adorned with a canopy, one that I can close around my bed for privacy, perhaps to imagine that I am in the clouds, seeing as how it's pure white. There is a large television screen that takes up nearly an entire wall, and a keypad nearby with a hundred buttons on it. A fireplace takes up almost the length of another wall. I cannot wait to light it tonight and smell the wonderful scent of burning wood. Perhaps it will lull me to sleep.

I almost cannot believe the room I am standing in. It seems as if it is something out of one of my dreams, something in a storybook.

It would be the most wonderful place in the world, if it were not in the Capitol.

It will be a nice place to spend some of my last days in.

Lindsay, walking by (perhaps to find her own room), stumbles across my room. Perhaps she, too, was drawn by the scent emanating from within. "Oh my…"

"It's the most amazing room I have ever seen," I manage to say.

"It's almost as if it were made with you specifically in mind," she says in awe. "Oh, if yours is this nice, I wonder what mine must be like!"

It is my turn to shake myself out of a stupor, and I follow her down the hallway. Her bedroom looks almost like mine in terms of furniture, but her color scheme is a little brighter and more feminine. It seems to be made for her, as mine was made for me.

Did they plan it this way, to throw us off of our games?

Dinner that night is just as elaborate as our new home, if not more. We are served by many people, but I notice that no one gives them thanks for what they are providing for us. I start to give my gratitude to the one who has been paying attention to me, but Effie kicks me under the table, hard. I give her a puzzling look, and she shoos them off.

"Avoxes," she says. "Rebels whose tongues have been cut out as punishment. They are servants to citizens of the Capitol."

"Why are we not allowed to give thanks to them?" I question.

"They're _servants_, dear, as well as rebels. They are not paid for their services. We do not express gratitude towards them. That's just the way things are."

I frown; this does not sound right or fair to me. Still, I am not one to argue with Effie. I vow to find the Avox who served me later and give thanks in private.

I climb into bed; training does not begin until tomorrow, and we were both advised to take it easy. John says he will show us footage from past Games, including his own, to help us strategize in the morning. I press various buttons on the keypad near the television screen, and images begin to show up on the screen. I flick through them, amazed at how clear the picture is, how vivid everything looks, as if it is real, as if I can reach out and actually touch it. A large body of water, a forest of trees, a field of food, the bustling Capitol at night…nothing that strikes me, though. I almost go back to the body of water, but then an image strikes me.

It is a meadow, much like the one I used to ride through with Sadie. I get out of the bed and walk up to the screen, pressing my hand against it to make sure that it is just a picture and not in the room with me. I close my eyes; I can practically smell the sweet grass and the flowers. A horse runs through the picture, and it captivates me. I do not want to sleep now. I just want to stare at this forever.

Eventually, though, my eyelids grow heavy, and I stagger over to the bed, inhaling the smoky smell of the burning wood in the fireplace and pretending like I'm home again.

**To be continued…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Time to meet some of the tributes! At long, long last! Here we go!**

**Chapter 7  
**

I wake up feeling more refreshed than I have in over a week. I am not sure why this is. Perhaps my body just went into overload and crashed. Perhaps it was the familiar scents and sights of home that relaxed me enough to get the sleep I need for our first day of training today. I quickly dress into the simple training outfit that had been hanging in my closet and shuffle down the hall into the dining room, where Lindsay is already chatting animatedly to Effie and John. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Lindsay says politely. "John is going to show us those old tapes of past Games before training. You're just in time."

"Yes. Grab something to eat and we'll convene in the next room," John states. I snatch a piece of fruit from the bowl in the middle of the table and munch on it as I follow them into the room where a television monitor is set up. John wordlessly turns it on. The screen flickers and comes to life. I recognize the footage at once; it is last year's Games. "Pay attention to the tributes here," he says. "They are the Careers. They always align together, and they've been training for this nearly all their lives. They tend to be the winners. Watch their methods of attack. Watch their defense strategies."

I lean in and try to see what he is talking about. "They are so graceful," Lindsay says.

"It's almost…planned," I say in awe. "As if they talk it over before and play it all out, like a story that has already been written." I flinch as the male tribute from Two slashes the female from Six across the stomach, as her blood splatters everywhere, as she falls, lifeless, to the ground.

John raises an eyebrow. "You're not squeamish, are you?"

"A little," I admit. "I don't like to see people—or animals—die. I don't like to watch the Games much. It's not so much the blood—it's the death."

"Well, too bad, because you're going to see a lot of it, unless you die first," he says matter-of-factly. "And you _won't_ die first." This is more of a command than a reassurance. I try to focus my attention back to the screen. I really, really truly do not like to watch this. I hate watching these people die so horribly—sliced and hacked and mutilated and unrecognizable by all means of the word.

"Excuse me," I mutter, and I bolt from the room, locking myself in my bedroom. I slide down against the wall, putting my head in my knees and sobbing openly for the first time since being selected for the Hunger Games. Surely, my heart will burst! It is all so real now, so very real, and I cannot turn back. This is it, this is the end for me, I will die soon and my family will be devastated.

I wish I could tell them I love them one more time.

I seclude myself in my room until Lindsay fetches me to go to training. It is the first time we'll really get a good look at all of the other tributes, and she wants to make a good first impression. She gently wipes the tearstains away from my cheeks with a wet cloth and smoothes my hair. It is almost a motherly or sisterly touch, and it relaxes me somewhat. We enter the room, and there they are: the other twenty-two competitors, along with a handful of trainers. I scan the competition; there is certainly a wide range of people here. There are boys and girls with skin colors and hair colors and body shapes that I have never seen before, nor have ever thought possible.

I find the Careers first.

They are nearly impossible to miss. The boys are taller and more imposing, and the girls are impossibly beautiful. I try to imagine what their names could be, but I suppose I will find out when they reveal our training scores later in the week. There is one with bulging arm muscles, and another even taller than him, though less muscular. There is a pretty girl with golden hair and green cat-like eyes who would ordinarily look like a sweet, nice girl, but there is something that flashes in her eyes when she catches me staring at her and I know that she is a threat and will kill when necessary. The girl standing next to the boy with the muscles must be his fellow tribute and she has tan skin and dark, dark hair, much like Lindsay's, but her eyes are brown and full. She, too, looks like she could—and would—kill me if she wanted to.

I turn away from them and look at some of the others. Some look alike, and it is easy to surmise that they hail from the same District. I can tell immediately which the ones from Twelve are, as they are the most bedraggled and thinnest of the bunch. There is a girl with fire-red hair—wait, make that two girls with red hair—and a girl who is as black as coal.

But there is one that jumps out above all the rest, and that is a tall but thin boy with blonde hair and pale skin. I sneak a look at the back of his uniform—he's from Seven.

I want to know his name, and I do not know why.

There is something so striking about him, something that just draws me to him.

He sees me staring at him, and I quickly look away, blushing.

He does not look like a killer.

But in the Games, everyone is a killer.

We break into groups to work on tying ropes and throwing weapons and the like. I am decent at the rope-tying, having worked with animals, but am not good at throwing weapons or anything that required brute strength or particularly good intelligence. I feel ashamed next to the Careers, to the blonde-haired boy, even to Lindsay. I feel as if I am a mistake, as if I do not belong here.

I will be one of the first to die, if not the very first. This I know to be true.

I cannot hold a candle to any of these other competitors.

Hello, Death, I hope you let me walk into your arms as an old friend.

**To be continued…**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games**

**Note: Um…well, I was hoping to have more reviews, but whatever. Let's just get on with this thing, okay? Maybe Damian will talk to Cameron soon…if you're good…**

**Chapter 8**

John called us into the room with the television the next morning. He wanted us to see the Reapings from the other Districts so we may become more familiar with the tributes.

"Watch them," he says as the Reaping from One comes on the screen. It is the blonde girl and the tall boy from yesterday; Quinn and Finn. That will be easy to remember, as their names are alike. They are confident, practically smiling as they make their way to the stage. The crowd is not silent like they were at our Reaping; they are clapping and cheering, as if they are actually proud of these kids, as if the Games are not a terrible thing at all. Perhaps this is because the Career Districts—One, Two, and Four—are the ones with the highest success rate. These kids—Quinn and Finn—have no doubt trained all their lives for this moment. It was a walk in the sun, a moment of glory for them.

"I saw them yesterday," Lindsay says. "Quinn has a talent for knives."

"Watch your back," John warns, "literally." The camera skitters, and now we are watching Two. The tributes are named Santana and Puck—silly names, I think to myself—and I make mental notes of their physical features so I can set them apart from the other tributes. Again, it is a moment of glory and happiness, not of shame and sadness. The Reapings keep playing, and I try to figure out tricks to remember all the names; Mercedes and Matt from Three, that's easy. Brittany and Kurt from Four—Careers, I have to be careful around them. Brittany is pretty and blonde, much like Quinn, but Quinn's features are sharper and she is a bit thinner. Kurt is nearly as pale as Lindsay and I are, but his hair and eyes are lighter. Tina and Mike are the tributes from Five, and they have different-shaped eyes than all the rest and shiny, black hair. Rachel and Artie come from Six, but they do not seem like threats, as Rachel seems to be physically weaker than the other females and Artie has a lame leg that causes him to walk with a limp.

John interjects with comments here and there. "Watch for them," about Brittany and Kurt. "He's your toughest competition," about Puck. "She'll be easy," about Rachel.

My full attention is focused on the screen when Seven's Reaping comes up.

It is him; the blonde-haired boy that had stolen my focus. I hold my breath as their names are read, always the females before the males. The girl is Hannah, the bigger of the two red-haired girls I spotted yesterday.

The boy is named Cameron.

I must let out an audible breath, as Lindsay turns to me. "What is it?"

"I…I saw him yesterday. He's…he's very smart," I half-lie, not telling the reason he caught my eye. He accepts his fate with astounding grace, while Hannah appeared to be a nervous wreck. I catch him squeeze her hand reassuringly. My stomach does an interesting flip; are they friends? Are they more than friends? They do not have the same last name, so they cannot be siblings…perhaps cousins? It will drive me mad until I know!

Lindsay gives me a strange look as I continue to stare at the screen, but is called back to attention by the start of the Reaping from Eight, where two smaller tributes, a pixie girl named Ellis and a boy even smaller than her named Matheus are called. They are not threats at all, being so much smaller than the other tributes. They will most likely die on the first day. It saddens me, that the playing field is not at all even. If we were all like me, or all like the Careers, perhaps the Games will be more exciting. Actually, no. It would not be. Sometimes, the person you least expect to win does.

Perhaps Ellis or Matheus will prove everybody wrong and take the victory.

Then again, perhaps they won't, and the Games will be so predictable, as they always are.

I do not pay too much attention to Nine, a pair named Emily (who I fear I might confuse for Santana) and Bryce (who I fear I might confuse for Matt).

I look up again when I see the familiar sight of Ten flickers on the screen. Lindsay closes her eyes and digs her nails into my leg. I wince, and she shoots me an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know if I can watch this," she says to John.

"You have to. This is what all tributes must watch. This is how they'll be formally introduced to you, after all. Notice how most of them did not show fear. Damian, you are the only one so far who froze at the sound of your name. The others will see this as a weakness. They'll see _you_ as a weak opponent and use that to the fullest."

I stare in silence at the image of me, listening to my name being called, standing rooted to the spot, being shoved forward towards the platform.

They're all going to see this. Santana, Puck, Quinn…

Cameron.

I bite my tongue to keep from crying again. There are only two more Districts to sit through. The tributes from Eleven, McKynleigh and Alex, aren't of much note. The last pair is from Twelve, the poorest District. Marissa is the other red-haired girl, willow-thin and mysterious-looking. Samuel is olive-skinned and could possibly be a threat, though it is too early to tell.

The second day of training did not go much better than the first. I could tell the other tributes were judging me, wondering how in the world I was chosen, that I was a mistake and probably planning the best, most painful way to kill me. I flinched as I noticed Quinn's knives slice through the air with little skill.

Those knives could kill me.

Those knives probably will kill me.

They'll probably kill a lot of people in this room.

I heard a rumor that she and Finn were romantically involved.

I wonder which one will kill the other first.

I feel a pair of eyes trained on me, and I turn around.

Cameron is staring at me.

I blush, but match him stare-for-stare. His eyes are a wonderful blue, far more beautiful than my own. I feel as if I will die on the spot, as if his very eyes could be my undoing.

I want to walk over there.

I want to tell him my name.

I want to hear his voice.

But I am afraid to get close to him.

What if he is the one to kill me?

**To be continued…**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Ah, still no reviews. Well, at this point, I'm doing this for myself. Are any of you alert people lurking and not reviewing? Please review. **

**Chapter 9**

It's our last day of training today. We will train in the morning before performing in front of a panel of committee members. They will give us our scores, which will be broadcast to the Districts. If you have a high score, you will have a higher chance of getting sponsors to help you out in the arena. The scores go from 1-10, 10 being the highest you can achieve. The tributes from One, Two, and Four tend to score the highest, but most other tributes score somewhere between 5-7. I do hope to get a good score, or else I risk not getting sponsors. No sponsors pretty much equates to not surviving very long.

But what will I possibly perform in front of these judges?

Lindsay keeps harping on how I am good with animals, but it's not as if I can bring a horse or a cow into the room. In fact, I do not even know what will be in that room. No doubt for Quinn it will be a set of knives and for Puck it will be something to show off his brute strength, but I have no clue as to what they will leave out for me. If I am lucky, they will leave a variety of objects and I can just play around with all of them, hoping to come across as multi-talented.

"Are you nervous?" Lindsay mutters to me as she stretches next to me.

"Are you kidding? I feel as if I'm going to puke," I mutter back.

She side-steps away from me, in case this is true. "I am sure you will be fine."

"Same with you," I reply. Lindsay and I have been getting along better since our talk on the train nearly a week ago. I will be sad to see her die…that is, if she dies before me, which I do not think will be the case.

"Look out!" A voice yells from behind me, and I leap out of the way just in time to avoid being run into by an angry-looking Finn, who seems to have a sort of feud going on with Puck. This baffles me; usually the Careers agree to get along and form an alliance with each other.

"Thank you," I turn to give my gratitude towards the owner of the voice.

"You're welcome," the girl smiles at me. "I'm Hannah. You're Damian, right?"

I nod. "Yes. You are from Seven?"

She shrugs. "It's not the best, but it's home."

I'm dying to ask her about Cameron.

I want to know if she's his girlfriend.

I want to know if he is in love with her.

I want to know what he is like, what his voice is like.

I look around the room, but I do not see him. "What are you looking for?"

I blush. "Nothing," I mumble. "So…why is Finn angry?"

Hannah checks to make sure no one is listening and leans in. "He and Quinn are romantically involved. Puck keeps trying to get her to notice him. There is talk that he will kill Finn and steal Quinn away…well, for as long as she lives, anyway."

I swallow. "Oh." I am about to summon up the courage to ask her about Cameron, but they call the training session to order, and we split up.

The scoring session goes in order by District. I stare at the wall and watch all of the other tributes leave, one by one. Some of them seem to take no time at all. Some of them are gone for ten minutes at a time. I do not make eye contact with anybody. My confidence is not very big to begin with, and I certainly don't want what little I do have to be destroyed by staring into the eyes of some of the better contenders.

Lindsay's name is called before mine, and I watch her throw her shoulders back, hold her chin up, and stride towards the room, to no doubt show off her pyrotechnic abilities. There are only four other tributes left, and they are silently awaiting their turns.

They call my name.

No, I am not ready for this.

I am not ready for this at all.

I shakily make my way down the hall and into the room. A committee of people stares down at me from behind a wall of glass. I suppose it is to keep them safe from any rouge weapons. I scan my options; I am afraid of harming myself with the bigger, sharper weapons. I am not physically strong, so I do not go near those tools. I instead make my way towards the ropes and begin to tie a complicated knot that my father taught me when I was younger. I cannot tell if they are impressed or not. I back out of the room, nearly tripping over a rack of swords. Embarrassed, I stagger away, fleeing from the room before they can lower my score any further.

When I tell John this story, he shakes his head and scolds me. "Damian, this is one of the most important things that happen here in the Capitol. If you do poorly…"

"I know, I know. I don't get sponsors and then I die quicker."

He gives me a warning look. "I'm just saying this for your well-being."

We settle around the television later to receive our scores. Not surprisingly, the Careers score in the 8-10 range. The others fall between the 5-7 range.

I find myself holding my breath when Seven is announced.

Cameron scores a 7.

I feel Lindsay staring at me as I stare at his picture on the screen, but I do not care.

If she sees me staring, she sees me staring.

It is not as if I am falling in love with Cameron.

He just…intrigues me.

Lindsay grabs my hand when the scores from Ten are announced. She scores a 7, which is not bad, and John smiles approvingly.

I score a paltry 5. John is not happy. "You should have scored at least a 7," he chides.

"I am sorry," I grumble.

I can kiss my chances of survival goodbye.

I will not be receiving sponsors unless someone takes pity on me.

I will die fairly quickly.

Perhaps one of Quinn's knives will stab me.

Perhaps one of Kurt's swords will slice me open and leave me to bleed.

I hear people go insane and beg for death.

There are people I could not kill. Lindsay, I could not kill her, even if she insisted that I do so. Hannah, I am not sure I could kill her, either.

I could never kill Cameron.

Would Cameron ever kill me?

**To be continued…**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Huh, I'm surprised that so many of you like the Damian/Cameron pairing. Well then, I shall stick with that! Only a few more chapters before we reach the arena, no worries. Please keep reviewing!**

**Chapter 10**

We are scheduled to appear on television tomorrow night. They want to interview us and broadcast us to all of the Districts, as they do every year. I do not understand the point of these interviews except perhaps to try to get sponsors if we did poorly in the training round of things. That will be our last night here; in two days, we will be in the arena.

My last few days in this world, and I am spending it in interview training.

I'd much rather be riding.

I'd even take working in the slaughterhouse over doing this.

I roll my eyes and grumble as Lindsay and I assemble in our usual meeting spot. "Good morning," she smiles kindly at me, knowing I did not have a good day yesterday. "How are you this morning, Damian?"

"Considering we're going to be killed soon, I'm just fine," I say bitterly.

"Will you _stop_ saying that?" She says, exasperated. "We're _not_ going to be killed, okay? We're going to be just fine. You and I will make it to the end."

"And then one of us would have to kill the other," I point out. "And I will not kill you."

She blinks up at me with those big, blue eyes of hers. "You won't?"

I shake my head. "I could never kill you, Lindsay."

Something ghosts across her face; is it relief? Is it confusion? I cannot tell. "I…I do not think I could kill you, either," she says softly. "I don't think I could at all."

There is a sudden heat between us as Lindsay edges closer to me. "Please get away."

She appears hurt. "Damian…"

"Do you think I want to spend my last days like this?" I all but yell at her.

"I told you, it's not-"

"No," I cut her off. "Haven't you seen the others? Quinn, Puck, Santana? Do you think we stand a chance against them? All you have are your stupid little fires and all I have is a fondness for working with animals. I don't even have that opportunity in the arena. Why don't you just stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours and we'll just die alone?"

"I thought you were nicer than this," she says, her voice wavering. "But I guess I was wrong." She stands up and stares at me for a long moment before quickly walking out of the room, heading who-knew-where.

I wanted to feel bad.

I wanted to care.

But I just couldn't bring myself to do so.

John walks into the room just then. "Where's Lindsay?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

He sighs. "Did you say something to her again?" I do not respond. "Damian, you've got to stop doing that. She doesn't need to be upset as she goes into the arena. Neither of you do. And you, sir, have to adjust your confidence, or you'll be dead within the first minute."

"Oh, so we're downgrading my odds of survival from ten minutes to one minute?" I snap.

John clenches his hands. "Damian, please go apologize to Lindsay and then bring her back here. I do not have long to turn the both of you into the most likeable tributes."

I mutter some choice words under my breath, but I head down the hall. Lindsay's bedroom door is locked; I knock on it. "Lindsay?"

"Go away," she says in a strained voice.

"Actually, I have been ordered to bring you back to the room. We're going to learn how to be 'likeable' or something like that," I say. She unlocks the door, but does not open it. I roll my eyes and open it for her.

She has been crying.

I can see the tearstains on her cheeks.

Did I really make her cry?

Or has she, too, realized that these are her final days?

"Are you okay?"

"What do you care?" She says in a strained voice.

"I do care. I am sorry for yelling at you. I am under a lot of stress right now. We all are. You have to forgive me for acting the way that I did." I look down. "I really do mean what I said back there. I could never kill you. I wanted to thank you for saying the same for me." I approach her cautiously. "What if it did come down between the two of us?"

She frowns. "I don't know. Maybe they'll let two tributes from the same District win."

A light goes on. "That's actually a good idea. Why not let that happen?"

Her face falls even further. "Oh, that's just wishful thinking. I suppose if we were in that situation, I would let myself starve to death."

"Suicide," my mouth almost struggles around the word.

"Well…yes," she furrows her brow. "Suicide. Has it ever happened before?"

I shake my head. "Not to my knowledge. Some tributes beg for death, but I do not think that any have actually taken their own lives themselves. No one has stabbed themselves, or starved themselves, or cut themselves until they bled to death." I pause, lost in thought for several moments. "It's an idea, though…a brilliant idea…"

"Damian, no," her eyes widen. "You are not going to kill yourself."

"If it came down to the two of us," I say, "I would rather kill myself than kill you."

Her eyes fill with tears. "No," she whispers. "No…I won't let you!"

"Well, you just said you'd do the same thing," I remind her. "Which, by the way, I would not allow you to do."

"You wouldn't?"

"I would not."

"I love you," she says quietly.

I freeze.

No.

No, I cannot do this.

Not with Lindsay.

Not here, not now.

She looks at me, waiting for me to say something.

But I cannot tell her that I love her too, because I do not.

I slowly back out of the room, her eyes never once leaving mine.

I find the door and run away as fast as my legs can take me.

Lindsay calls my name.

But I do not listen.

I lock myself in my bedroom and collapse on the floor, crying myself to sleep.

**To be continued…**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Well, here we go with that big televised interview. Lindsay dropped quite the bombshell on Damian, didn't she? Let's see how this pans out…**

**Chapter 11**

Lindsay and I have not said a word to each other since she told me that she is in love with me.

And strangely, no one has seemed to notice this.

It's almost as if it never happened, really.

But it did. It happened.

Lindsay Pearce is in love with me, and I am not in love with her.

I feel badly. She wanders around with a beat-up expression on her face, as if she is dead and just going through the motions. No one else notices, but she picks at her food at meals. Her hair is unbrushed today, and I can see the dark circles that cling under her eyes from across the room as I look at her now.

She didn't sleep a wink last night, I can tell.

After an early supper, we are shuttled off towards our big television debuts, where we will be interviewed in front of the citizens of the Capitol.

Tomorrow, we will be thrown into the arena to fight to the death.

"Go check your rooms for your outfits," John tells us. I sigh and stand up from the table and retreat. On my bed is a velvet green jacket and tan pants. They are made of the softest fabric ever, so soft that I want to sleep in them. When I put them on, I am reminded of horses. John appears behind me. "Lindsay told me about your horse," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "I thought this outfit would be appropriate."

"It's wonderful," I tell him honestly. In a way, I am touched that Lindsay would do me this favor.

But I have to wonder, is she doing this to get my attention?

Ordinarily, I would say that she told me that she loves me to throw off my focus, that it was all a ruse to give her an upper hand in the Games.

But seeing her today, I know that she has been truthful to me.

She emerges from her room, hair swept away from her face, in a white-and-black spotted dress. I stifle a snicker, because the dress resembles a cow, but then that would be calling _her_ a cow, and even I am not that cruel.

When we get to the large outdoor theatre where we will be interviewed by the traditional Games host, Caesar Flickerman, we must wait backstage until it is our turn. As usual, they call us in order of District, always the girls before the boys. Still, there is a monitor backstage with us so we can watch our fellow competitors, perhaps learn of their secrets, of their strengths and weaknesses, to be able to spot their voices.

Quinn is first. Her voice is soft and almost melodic. It chills me to the bone that a girl with such a gentle voice and a pretty face could be so deadly, that ice could run through her veins. She smiles and laughs along with Caesar, stating that she does not fear anything. Finn proclaims his love for her, and the crowd goes wild. I cast a sideways glance at Quinn; she is beaming, while Puck, from the other side of the room, glares daggers at the monitor.

Santana's voice is not as soft as Quinn's; in fact, it is more deadly and sharp-edged, as if she is speaking swords and daggers with each word she utters. She is confident beyond reason, and also claims not to fear anything. The crowd favors her, they truly do, which worries me; how will they react to me? Puck flexes his arm muscles and kicks back in the chair, calm and cool as ever, never once slipping up about his feelings for Quinn.

I admittedly don't pay attention the tributes from Three, but I focus again when it comes to Four, the last Career District. Brittany's voice is a tone lower than Quinn's, which makes it easier to distinguish them from each other. Kurt is strangely high-pitched for a man, but he is cocky, as if he already thinks—or knows—that he is better than all of the others. I have seen him with his swords, and he can easily cut a person to ribbons with no remorse. He talks as if he is constantly breathless, but it captivates me all the same, as do his grey-blue eyes. I lose focus again for Five and Six.

But then Seven comes up, and I am glued to the screen.

I have already heard Hannah speak, and so she is no surprise to me.

This is the first time I am going to hear Cameron's voice.

And it is one of the most beautiful I have ever heard.

He speaks slowly, deliberately. His blonde hair is tousled slightly, and something about the way he relaxes into the chair draws me into him. He is joking about how he enjoys music, but does not think he is very good at it.

I try to imagine him singing to me.

His smile is a bit crooked, but never once does he look embarrassed or ashamed or fearful. The crowd laughs a few times, and I am positive he will earn a sponsor or two just from his interview he is giving.

I want to speak to him afterwards.

I want him to say my name.

But I am too afraid to do so.

I do not look at Lindsay as she steps into the wings and onto the stage.

She is faking that smile on her face.

No one would know that but me.

She chats conversationally to Caesar about her affinity for staring fires, joking that it has gotten her in trouble before. All seems to be going well for her. Anything that has happened between us in the past day or so seems to have been pushed aside as she presides over the stage. Whoever has touched up her makeup has gotten rid of the circles under her eyes and has made her cheekbones more prominent.

My stomach flips as Caesar asks her about her relationship to me.

He must know. Somehow, he must know. He has not asked anyone else about this except for Finn, and somehow he must have known about their relationship as well.

Her smile freezes. She asks him to repeat the question, and he does. She looks down at her hands. "We are friends," she says quietly.

"Oh, come on. There must be _something_," Caesar winks at the camera, and the crowd laughs.

"No, there is nothing," she bows her head gracefully.

Caesar goes to ask another question, but her time is up, and she is whisked offstage to a smattering of applause.

She has lost them with that last question.

And this is all my fault.

I have no time to think about this, though; I am being pushed onstage.

The lights instantly blind me, and I squint against them for a moment until I get used to it. I sit in the chair across from Caesar.

"Hello, Damian," he says to me and extends his hand.

"Hello," I shake it. "It is nice to meet you."

He laughs. "So, I hear that you're fond of animals."

I clear my throat. "Yes. My family has a farm, and I have a horse. I do not like killing them, though. My father slaughters them and closes their eyes, and then I help him sell the meat in the market." I pause. "It is not so much the act of the killing, but I do not like to see the life leave their eyes."

"So how do you think that will affect your standing in the Games?" He asks.

"I do not know," I say honestly. "I do not consider myself to be a killer. I never really have enjoyed watching the Games because I do not like to watch them die in such brutal, brutal ways."

"Right now, the odds seem to be that you will die within the first hour. What do you have to say to that?"

My eyes flicker over the crowd, silent and waiting for me to respond. "I have to say that one should never doubt what one is not sure about."

The buzzer sounds, and my time has ended. It was only three minutes, but it feels as if it has been much longer.

I stumble offstage. No one dares to look at me.

I have admitted publicly that I am not fond of the Games.

I have admitted that I am not a killer.

I have admitted to my weaknesses.

And I have all but signed off on my death certificate.

**To be continued…**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Next chapter is the arena, promise. **

**Chapter 12**

In less than twenty-four hours, I will most likely be dead.

Why bother sleeping? I can sleep plenty when I'm dead.

I head out to one of the sitting rooms. It is a nicely furnished room, with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out upon the Capitol. The city is still alight with colors, a spectacle that I never could have dreamed of seeing. I curl up in a chair, running my fingertips over the armrest, staring out the nearest window at the city that refused to go to bed after everyone else had.

I still wonder if it will hurt. I don't want it to hurt, but maybe that is asking too much. I try to think of what the most painless death would be. I think to die in your sleep would be the best way to go. I have heard that drowning is one of the most painful. Your lungs feel as if they are on fire, and then they burst altogether.

I sigh and rest my head on the glass of the windowpane.

I want to just crawl in a hole and shrivel up and fade away.

What is the point of fighting to the death?

And why are the richer Districts forced to do this? It is called the Hunger Games for a reason, is it not? Why should the Districts that have food to spare send two children to fight for food? And why are those the Districts that have the most training and the highest success rate? You would think that the poorest Districts would be the ones that would have the most training, to really fight for their food as they are the ones that need it the most.

But no.

The Games are unfair.

Just as they always have been, and just as they always will be.

I hear a sound behind me, but I do not turn to look. I do not care who or what it is. I just want to be alone.

"D…Damian?"

I don't want to talk right now.

"Can we…talk?"

No. Just leave me alone.

"Please?"

Oh, all right.

"What is it?"

"I can't sleep. I thought perhaps you'd be out here." Silence. "May I sit with you?" I nod. "I just…I shouldn't…I'm sorry."

More silence.

"It doesn't matter, anyway, considering how I'm going to die soon."

I turn. "Don't think that for a minute. I will be gone before you, and that will be the end of that. You need to win this. You need to win it for Ten."

"I don't think I could. You're right. There are people much better than we are. I don't see how I ever could have thought that we would be the last two tributes standing." A tug at the sleeve, pulling it down.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." Another tug, trying to pull it as far down as she can.

"Let me see," I reach out for her.

"No," she says firmly. She tries to jerk away from me again, but I catch her wrist and bring it towards me. There is a jagged pink line on the inside of her wrist. It is a little faint, but it is there. I run my thumb along it, and she shivers. "I…"

"Did you do this to yourself?" Her mouth tightens, her lips firmly closed. "Lindsay…"

"I'm practicing," she says softly.

I frown. "What for?"

"Just in case…you know," she kind of shrugs. I let go of her and she puts her hands in her lap.

"In case what?"

"I have to kill myself," she says.

"Lindsay, you won't have to do that," I tell her. "It won't come to that."

"But _what if_?"

I avert my gaze so I am looking back out the window. "I stopped asking myself 'what if' a long time ago."

"I…I…I did mean it."

I close my eyes. "What did you mean?"

"What I said." She sounds as if she is trying to speak around a lump in her throat.

"Please," I squeeze my eyes closed tighter. "Don't."

"Can I just at least tell you why I said that?"

"No," I stand up. "No. I don't want to know. I don't care anymore."

"Damian, just listen-"

"We are done talking about this," I hiss. "We are never going to talk about it again."

"I _lied_ to Caesar about that. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

I scoff. "That's your funeral, Lindsay. You could've told everyone. You could've gotten those sponsors. But you know what? You lost them with that. It is your own fault."

"You don't care that I lo-"

"I _don't_ care. You just don't seem to understand that." With that, I leave her there, her pale face illuminated by the lights of the city that shine through the windows.

I am not lying.

I do not care that she is in love with me.

I am not in love with her, so it does not matter.

That, and the fact that we will soon be dead.

Who has time for romance when you're fighting for your life?

**To be continued…**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: And thus begins the arena. This chapter will take us through the first part of day one; the next chapter will be nighttime of the same day. That chapter will be up tomorrow night, with any luck. **

**Chapter 13**

This is it.

This is the day the Hunger Games start.

I am about to look Death in the eye, and I will not fear it.

We're taken to a base where we change into arena-suitable clothing. Lindsay is paler than usual, and she does not speak to me. Then, all twenty-four tributes are strapped into a hovercraft that will transport us to the arena's mysterious location.

I wonder what it will look like there.

All water? All sand? Trees, rivers, ravines? A frozen tundra, as it was a few years ago? A vast, open meadow full of grass and flowers and a trickling stream flowing through it? I jolt out of my thoughts when somebody grabs my arm and forces a needle into the crook of my elbow. Confused—and flinching in pain—I turn to the person next to me, the male tribute from Eleven. "Trackers," he tells me, "so they can find us from anywhere in the arena." I nod. It makes sense, and now I know how the Gamemakers know when somebody drops dead. I know how they know where to carry their body away.

I wonder how my body will be returned to my family.

Mutilated? My features unrecognizable and mangled? Seemingly untouched, as if I am merely sleeping deeply?

We are then brought to another place that they say is underground from the arena. We will be taken up in elevators to our individual platforms.

And then the countdown begins.

John keeps telling us last-minute tips before we are to ascend. "Don't even think about stepping off the platform before the counter reaches zero. You will be blown up by one of the mines that are activated in the ground." Lindsay's eyes widen. "Go for a backpack," John goes on. "Don't go for the weapons. Backpacks should be equipped with water, flares, and other essential survival goods. They're also useful for storing food and weapons from fallen tributes, but never leave it unattended."

"Anything else?" I mutter.

He gives me a long look. "Stay alive," he says. I snort; right, easy for him to say.

Let's just get this over with, shall we?

I step into the elevator, and they seal the door. I can see Lindsay panicking in the pod to my left. There is a rumble beneath my feet, and I begin to move upwards.

I hold my breath.

I am ready to do this.

The arena slowly comes into view. My eyes scan around; it is a field. It is a big, open field. Towards the south is a cluster of trees. To the east, I can hear the distant burble of a river, perhaps a stream. The air is crisp and clean.

There aren't very many places to hide, and it unnerves me.

And there it is; the Cornucopia. There is a selection of weapons around and in it. I spot a backpack right away and try to figure out a strategy to get to it before the others.

From across the way, I can see Quinn. She is crouched in a running position, and her cat eyes are narrowed in determination, ready to strike and kill.

I am so distracted by watching the other tributes that I nearly miss the end of the countdown, but I catch myself as the last second ticks away. I step off the platform and make a mad dash towards that backpack, determined to snatch it up and make a break towards those trees to hide out there.

I brace myself for death as I see Quinn grab hold of a set of knives and Kurt a set of swords.

But death does not come for me.

My arm laces through the strap of the backpack; my, that was easier than expected!

The boy from Six, the one with the lame leg, drops dead inches from the backpack I am picking up from the ground, his arms still outstretched for it.

I want to scream.

But I cannot make a sound.

Shaking, trembling all over, I whirl around, trying not to trip over the body of the boy from Eleven—oh, what was his name again?—and run as fast as my legs can carry me towards that distant forest to the south.

My heart is still pounding even as I find myself surrounded by trees as tall as the buildings of the Capitol, seeming to scrape the sky with their branches.

Where to go, where to go?

The cannon begins to sound, one boom for each contestant dead so far. I cock my head towards the noise and count.

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom…Boom. _

Seven down so far, and it has only been ten minutes.

I look around me, adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

Lindsay. Is she dead? And what about Cameron? I know for sure that the boys from Six and Eleven are dead, but I did not see who the other five were.

Please, don't let Cameron be dead.

Again, I check to make sure nobody is around. I sit on the ground and rifle through the contents of the backpack: a bottle of water, some sort of healing ointment, a flare, a few rations of food that might last a day, and a few lengths of rope.

What am I going to do to survive?

I do not want to have to kill animals to survive.

I do not want to have to kill another person to survive.

I curl up next to a tree.

Please, just let me die here in peace.

**To be continued…**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: This is part two of day one. Which tributes fell on this first day of the Games? Read on to find out. Also, a hidden Les Miserábles reference if you can spot it.**

**Chapter 14**

It is quiet.

It is entirely too quiet.

There are sixteen other people running around somewhere…

_Boom._

Make that fifteen.

How am I the only one who seems to be hiding out in these trees? Why haven't I seen anyone else around here?

I stand up and sling my backpack up. I decide to wander further into the woods to explore and see if I can find a place to stay for the night (provided I live that long).

The silence is deafening.

I see something out of the corner of my eye and hold my breath; it is just a leaf free-falling to the ground. I exhale and keep walking. I watch where I walk, trying to avoid twigs that could snap beneath my feet and give away where I am. After nearly half an hour of walking, I find a bush. I have seen these before, back in Ten. I know that they are safe to touch and to hide in. It is just large enough for me to crouch behind and remain hidden, so I do.

I do not know how much time has passed before I dare to breathe again.

I have been alert, listening for the boom of the cannon or the footsteps of another person, but aside from one cannon boom, I have heard nothing for a long time.

The sky is growing darker. I dig into my backpack and dole out a part of my rations that will serve as my meal for the day.

It barely fills my stomach, but it is better than nothing.

As I am brushing the crumbs off of my hands, I hear a noise in the distance.

_Boom_.

Ten. Ten are dead, and the first day is not even over yet. An hour later, I relieve myself, the only time I allow myself to stand and move about. My legs are cramped from crouching for so long, and my back is stiff.

I wonder how I am supposed to sleep like this. Do I sleep with one eye open? Do I sleep for a few minutes and then wake up to check and see if anybody is about? Do I not sleep until the Careers are all dead?

Speaking of death, I hear another blast from the cannon in the distance. _Boom_. Eleven.

The sky is dark now, and the logo of the Capitol is projected into the sky amid the Anthem. I can see it through the treetops, and I watch the faces of the fallen tributes appear one by one. The boy from Eleven. The girl from Eight. Both tributes from Five. Both tributes from Six. Both tributes from Three. Both tributes from Nine. Finally, Hannah from Seven.

Cameron is still alive.

And for that matter, so are all the Careers…and Lindsay.

Speaking of Lindsay, I can smell smoke not too far from where I am. Curiously, I try to figure out from which direction it is coming from. It is from the east, and I peer from over the top of the bushes. Sure enough, I can see the flames arising from the clearing not too far from here and a figure squatting by the pseudo-campfire.

I smile to myself; Lindsay seems to be doing well off on her own. I settle back in for the night, willing myself to stay awake the night.

I hear a scream.

I know that scream.

I stand up and turn my head towards the sound of it.

And then I run.

I do not run away.

I could.

But I can't.

I run, run until I reach her.

But it is too late.

"Lindsay," I kneel next to her. I can hear laughter, high, soft, melodic laughter, running away, gleeful in her victory. "Lindsay, no…"

Her big blue eyes widen when she sees me. "Damian…you're here…"

"Yes," my face collapses in sudden worry. "I'm here."

She presses a hand to her stomach. When she pulls it away, it is covered in blood. She looks up at me. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" I am confused.

"I didn't make it to the end with you," she says, a tear streaking down her pale face.

"No…Lindsay…I…I can heal you," I dig in my backpack, searching desperately for the healing ointment. "I can help you, please, let me…"

"Don't," she clasps her hand over mine. "I don't want you to. Don't you fret. I don't feel any pain. You're here, and that's all I need to know. You'll keep me safe and close."

"You'll live," I move closer to her. "Lindsay, you will live."

"Just hold me," she groans in pain. "Shelter me and comfort me."

"I won't desert you now," I promise her, cradling her in my arms. Oh, and she is bleeding, bleeding so much, there is blood everywhere and I can't stop it…

"I'm at rest," she reassures me. "A breath away from where you are. I've come home from so far…" She flinches in pain, her breaths coming further apart.

"I'm here," I say needlessly, stroking her hair.

"That's all I need to know," she smiles up at me.

"I will stay with you until you are sleeping," I promise her.

She smiles again. "Thank you, Damian," she whispers, and with her last ounce of strength, she draws herself up and kisses me on the cheek, feather-light. She falls back, and I can see the fight leave her as she breathes her last in my arms.

"Lindsay…Lindsay, no…no…" I tremble as she lays there, unmoving. "Lindsay!"

But it is useless.

She is gone.

_Boom._

The sound is definitive and lets me know that this is reality.

To confirm my nightmares, Lindsay's face is projected into the sky, and I can hear a hovercraft rumbling above. Startled, I release her body, and she is carried away, up into the sky, where she can be at peace and sleep forever.

Half of the tributes are dead, and it is only the end of the first day.

I narrow my eyes.

I vow revenge upon Quinn.

I will make her suffer a death a thousand times more painful than what she has done to Lindsay.

I may not have loved her as she loved me, but she was my friend.

And no one, _no one_, messes with my friends.

**To be continued…**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Aww, poor Lindsay. Well, day two will also be split into two chapters; this is part one (daytime). **

**Eliminated: Mercedes, Matt, Tina, Mike, Rachel, Artie, Hannah, Ellis, Emily, Bryce, Lindsay, Alex.**

**Chapter 15**

I stay up all night by the fire, afraid to breathe or to move or even to blink.

Her blood is still on my hands from where I held her while she died.

I look down at them, reminders of her ghosting away from me, the light leaving her eyes, her body going cold, my name lingering on her lips.

I should wash them off, but I do not want to waste my water rations, and I fear going to the stream, knowing the Careers have probably marked their territory there and are killing anyone who dares to try to go there. That would explain how so many are dead already; they must have tried to get water to drink and they fell there, victims of the Careers.

I try to consider who is left. Myself, obviously. Both tributes from Twelve—that redheaded girl included. The brown-skinned girl from Eleven. The small boy from Eight. All six Careers.

Cameron.

I wonder where he is. I know he is still alive, or he would have appeared in the sky. I wonder if he is here in the forest with me, or hiding in a part I have not explored yet. I want to find him and align with him.

But that would mean eventually, we would have to turn on each other.

And if that were to be the case, I would let him kill me.

I stand up and stretch out my legs. The fire has long since died out, so I need not worry about that. I grab the backpack and begin to walk. I can eat later, I tell myself.

_Boom._

Someone has just died, but whom? I can only hope that it is one of the Careers, but I have a sinking feeling that it is not. I pray that it is not Cameron. Not that I want the redheaded girl or the small boy or the brown-skinned girl to die, but…well…rather them than him.

I walk onwards, keeping a trained ear out for signs of life from elsewhere in the arena. There is not a soul around from what I can see, but to be fair, there are only ten other people around, and I'd bet my family's small amount of money that the six Careers are banded together until the other six of us are dead, at which point, they will turn on each other and a true bloodbath will occur, much to the entertainment of the watchful audience.

The audience.

I wonder what they have seen of me so far.

I wonder if they watched me hold Lindsay as she died.

I wonder if they watched me hide for my life.

I wonder if they are even rooting for me at all.

I hear shouts. I hesitate; do I go towards them? They are familiar, and I try to place them. A female voice calls for help. I think it is the redheaded girl. I try to recall her name, but I can't seem to grasp it.

Do I trust her?

My mind is made up as I run towards her. I find her and her fellow tribute—oh, what's his name?—huddled in a far corner of the woods, near the entrance of the trees.

"What's wrong?" I walk towards them. The girl stands up in a flash, instantly on guard.

"What do you want?" She demands, her eyes flashing.

I hold up my hands, showing her that I hold no weapons. "Just to help."

She turns back to the boy. "He's caught his leg in a trap, and I can't seem to get it out."

I kneel on the ground next to him, trying to see how I can help them. "It looks like you need a knife or something to cut him out. Or…well, it's a crazy idea…hey, is your leg caught or just your foot?"

"My leg," he says, groaning. "Do you…what was your plan?"

"Well," I say, "I was going to suggest perhaps trying to take your pants off." He gives me a strange look. "Perhaps you can wriggle around the trap…I'm assuming the Careers got you?"

"The dark-haired one," the girl nods. "At least, I'm pretty sure it was her."

I rock back on my heels and stand up. "I'll go look for something to cut that trap with, if you stay here with him." She studies me carefully; should she trust me? "I promise to you, I will come back."

"Well…alright," she says slowly.

I turn to go, but then turn back. "What are your names?"

She pauses, but smiles. "I'm Marissa. He's Samuel."

"Damian," I say. "I promise, I will be back within the hour." I turn and run in search of a knife or a flint that I can use to free Samuel from the trap. Something boils in my blood; they seem like nice people, and here they are, in the Games.

I want to track down and destroy all of the Careers.

I tell myself that if I can free Samuel, I will align with him and Marissa.

I search high and low, but there seems to be nothing. I peek into my backpack again; nope, nothing I can use. I have food and water and flares and rope. I do not think I could burn this trap away, and I would not want to risk burning Samuel. I look desperately for a gleam of metal, a flash of silver.

Screams, there are screams. Terrified screams.

Marissa! I tear through the woods, leaping over roots and ducking under branches.

_Boom_.

No, no, no…no, it can't be…it was just a coincidence, oh no…

I find the place where they were, and they are both gone.

That is strange; the cannon only boomed once, which means only one is dead.

I look around; where are they?

And then my arms are yanked behind my back, my wrists restrained by a firm grip.

My attacker presses the handle of a knife to my spine.

**To be continued…**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: I love that you guys are trying to figure out what's going to happen next. That's great! This is the second half of day two; the other days will be a chapter each, with chapter 27 being the finale. **

**Explanation of the Arena: It looks a little like this:**

** Mountains to the north (currently uncharted to Damian)  
**

**Meadow to the west (currently uncharted to Damian)  
**

**Stream to the east  
**

** Forest to the south  
**

**Chapter 16**

Well, I can't say that I thought it would come down to this.

And it certainly takes the term 'getting stabbed in the back' to new heights.

But wait…the blade isn't digging into my spine. Just the handle is.

"Stay absolutely still," the voice hisses in my ear.

"Marissa?" I gasp. The grip on my wrists tightens.

"It's all your fault," she growls. Her fire-red hair tickles my cheek.

"What?" I close my eyes and groan. "What's my fault?"

She kicks me to the ground with the heel of her boot. "Samuel is dead." Her breathing is heavy, and I have no idea where she has gotten the knife she now wields.

"And how is that my fault?" I blink up at her.

"Because you left us," she tightens the hold on the knife. "You turned your back on us."

"I had to," I remind her. "I was looking for something to free him with. And where did you get that, anyway?"

She takes a step back, her chest heaving as she stares me down with her cat-eyes, similar to Quinn's, but they do not seem as threatening.

The knife falls to the ground.

"I am sorry," she apologizes. "I just…I did not know if I could trust you or not."

"Well, you can," I say, my wrists throbbing from where she crushed them. "Look, I do not want to be here any more than you do."

She snaps her fingers, remembering something. "You're the one they were all talking about," she says.

"Wha-"

"Shh," she rushes to me, clamping a hand over my mouth. She whips her head around, that hair flying behind her. She yanks me to my feet and drags me back into the forest.

"Will you tell me what is going on, please?" I demand as we travel further out of sight.

She finally lets go of me. "Look, let's just say they've been plotting your death since the beginning," she says with a sigh.

I frown. "They?"

"The Careers," she explains. "They immediately targeted you as the weakest link, rightfully calling you passive-resistive. They wanted to take you out within the first few minutes of the Games. Obviously, that didn't happen, and now they're furious. Probably even more so after they saw your interview with Caesar. They know you don't like the Games and that you're, in your words, not a killer. They know you won't go near them." She pauses. "Although, after they killed your fellow tribute, perhaps that has changed."

I peer at her curiously. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, wouldn't you want revenge for Lindsay?"

"Of course," I say. "But that doesn't mean I'm a killer."

"Do you know which one of them…?"

"Quinn," I say with certainty. "I heard her laughing as she ran away."

She nods. "The dark-haired girl killed Samuel." She sits down on the ground and puts her chin on top of her knees.

I cautiously sit next to her. "Her name is Santana," I inform her. "What happened?"

"You left," she murmurs, "and Santana came back to gloat, to make sure her trap worked. And, well, before I knew what had happened, she'd stabbed Samuel. He was trapped, had no way to defend himself, and I was not quick enough. I pulled the knife out, but it was already too late. So when you came back, I panicked, and I turned on you." She looks upset, as if the reality of this has finally hit her.

"Were…were you friends?" I ask.

"More than friends," she says softly. "We weren't…involved…but there was definitely something _there_, you know?" She picks up a pebble and tosses it. "And I had to see him die, right there in front of me."

What do I say to her? What _can_ I say to her? She has gone through what I have gone through not twenty-four hours ago. "I am sorry," I say finally. There is a silence between us, but it is almost a comfortable one. "Look, you want revenge on Santana, right?"

"Right," she replies.

"And I want revenge on Quinn," I carry on. "Why don't we team up? We can plan an attack on the two of them, take them out. After our debts are paid to Lindsay and Samuel, we can part ways. Deal?"

She studies me carefully, eyes flickering over my body until they finally come to rest upon my own eyes. "Deal," she says slowly. We shake hands on it, and I realize that both of our hands are still covered in blood.

"We'll wash off when we can safely get to the stream," I tell her.

"Do you have any food?" She asks.

"Yes," I tell her, "but we can wait until later to eat. In the meantime, let us try to make a plan of attack for tomorrow. We'll attack at dawn."

We discuss the plan for a while, occasionally drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick.

_Boom_.

"I wonder who that was," she muses.

"I guess we'll find out soon," I point to the darkening sky. "Let's eat and find a place to stay for the night. We can take turns keeping watch for the Careers. Now that they know you and I are in here, no doubt they will try to find us and kill two birds with one stone." She agrees, and I hand her a portion of my rations. We lay back and watch for the projections, which arrive just on time, as they always do. We look to see who the other two fallen are. The small boy from Eight. The brown-skinned girl from Eleven. And Samuel, of course.

Cameron is still alive.

"Did you sleep last night?" She asks me. I shake my head. "Then I will take the first shift. You just relax and go to sleep. I'll wake you up in a couple of hours. At dawn, we'll head out for the attack."

I trust her, and within minutes, I am asleep.

**To be continued…**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Here with go with day three! Fifteen tributes down, eight to go before this Hunger Games has a winner. **

**Eliminated: Matheus, McKynleigh, Samuel.**

**Chapter 17**

Dawn is beginning to break.

We are ready.

I look over at Marissa, and she nods. We set out towards the stream, ready to extract our revenges. She wants to avenge Samuel, and I want to avenge Lindsay. We walk in silence, trying not to make a sound as we advance onwards, careful not to give away our positions. I was sure that they would track us down in the night and murder us on the spot, but they did not.

They are waiting for us.

I want to prove them wrong.

I want to show them that I'm not completely passive-resistive.

I'm not sure what has changed within me, but I want to fight. I want to fight back and win. I still do not think I could kill any animals—they cannot fight back, after all—but maybe, just once, I could kill another person in my own defense.

Perhaps I have a guilty conscience. All of those years in school, I more or less ignored Lindsay. We didn't speak much at all until we were selected as tributes for the Games. In fact, she downright annoyed me, always hanging around me or staring at me or being a show-off. At any rate, she had her own group of friends. Why was she so interested in me?

Well, because she loves—loved—me.

So why do I feel so guilty? It is not my fault that I did not have feelings for her in return. Though…I do suppose…it _is_ my fault for being rude to her and telling her to 'go away' or 'get lost' when she tried to talk to me in school.

She died in my arms.

I really wish I knew what was going on in her mind as that was happening. Was she happy that I was there? Did she feel at peace, relaxed, as she was in my arms as she always wanted to be?

I made a promise to her, to keep her safe and close and stay with her until she was at sleep forevermore.

It's the first promise I've kept.

"What are you thinking about?" Marissa says in a voice hardly above a whisper.

I pause. "Lindsay," I admit. "She died…in my arms…"

Her eyes widen. "You didn't tell me that."

I nod. "Yes, well…I'm trying to forget. Not because I did not care for her, but because…"

"I understand," she cuts me off. "I just want to forget all I've seen."

A thought occurs to me. "You realize you might-"

"I know," she says. "I've been thinking about it. But I am ready for that."

I realize that I have not seen the outside of the forest since I first came here. The Cornucopia is still there in the middle of it all. I can hear the stream, and, I can't believe how I haven't seen this before, but there are mountains on the opposite side of where we are standing.

I'll be that's where Cameron is.

It is the only other place to hide other than the forest.

I vow to myself to go there once Marissa and I defeat Santana and Quinn.

Marissa gives me the signal, and I take the rope out of the backpack, where we fashioned it into a noose of sorts last night.

If all goes well, we can take out two of the Careers.

If not…

We crouch down low, hiding in the tall grass near the stream. It takes a while of following the water upstream to find any clue as to where they might be camped.

I hear Quinn's voice first.

It makes my blood boil.

"I'll get justice for you, Lindsay," I mutter under my breath. "I will, I swear it."

Marissa peers through the grass, and sure enough, there they are. Finn is talking with Quinn, and she appears bored or otherwise uninterested. The other blonde-haired one is sleeping next to Kurt. Santana and Puck are on the lookout for…well, us, I suppose. We—and Cameron—are the only ones left at this point. Marissa nods to me, and I nod back.

Let's do this.

I hand her the noose and she charges, still crouched down and waiting to pounce at any moment, towards Santana. I find a rock near the shore; perhaps I can aim it at Quinn's head.

I want her to suffer a death more painful than Lindsay's.

Only no one will be there to comfort her and hold her.

Marissa takes a leap, her fiery hair flying behind her. She lunges for Santana and attempts to loop the noose around her neck. Puck yells and makes a grab for Marissa, but she is quick. She manages to get the noose around Santana, but is then knocked to her feet by Puck. The commotion rouses the tributes from Four. Kurt finds his swords in a flash, and by this time, Quinn has a knife in her hand. She is trying to cut the rope, but when Marissa was knocked down, she still had it in her hand.

Santana is struggling to breathe.

I'm not so sure I can do this.

Marissa yelps, and I am afraid. I do not want them to hurt her, too. I reveal myself and hurl the rock at Quinn's head, hoping she'll at least drop the knife.

It misses and hits her leg.

She looks up; she sees me, and her eyes are cold and unforgiving.

Kurt starts, but throws one of his swords at me. I duck, it narrowly missing me. Santana is gasping for breath and is sinking to her knees. I have to hand it to Marissa; she has not once let up on her grip on that rope. She must have really cared for—loved, even—Samuel.

Then I see Quinn plunge a knife into Marissa's heart, and I scream.

I cannot help it. I scream bloody murder.

Marissa falls back and starts to roll down the slight hill that leads into the stream, but she still is holding the rope.

They both go down.

_Boom…_

A pause.

_Boom._

I freeze.

There are five of them, and one of me.

I run as fast as I can, but Brittany—of course _now_ I remember her name—fires a bow and arrow, the arrow wedging in my leg.

"Let him go," Quinn stops her from firing another. "He'll never survive in the mountains."

I run and run and run up into the mountains.

I am getting dizzy and weak, and I do not think I can run anymore.

I stumble over a rock and fall to my knees.

Why do I suddenly feel so weak?

A shadowy figure approaches me, but my vision is blurred.

The next thing I know, I have fainted.

And when I wake up, I am in a very unfamiliar place.

**To be continued…**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Yeah, you all know who's up in these mountains, shouldn't be a surprise to anyone. **

**Eliminated: Marissa and Santana.**

**Chapter 18**

I am staring up at Cameron.

"Good, you're awake," he says.

I can do nothing but blink at him. I cannot believe that I am here with him, that I am still alive, that here he is and here am I and we're both_ alive_. "C…Cameron? I'm-"

He holds up a hand, silencing me. "I know who you are. You are Damian McGinty. You are the last remaining tribute who is not a Career. You are from District Ten." He begins to pace, and my eyes follow him. "You do not consider yourself to be a killer, and you do not like the Hunger Games. You enjoy animals. And you have survived for three days against all odds." He gives me a funny half-smile. "Congratulations, kid."

"What…what happened?" I manage to say.

"I saw the whole thing. Brittany shot an arrow into your leg. It was not looking good when you staggered up the mountain. But luckily, you had healing ointment in your backpack, and I managed to heal you. You were unconscious for some time, though."

"So…what…what day is it now?" Ah, so that is why my leg does not hurt.

"The fourth day. So far, no one has died. The only tributes who died yesterday were Santana and Marissa. You and I and the five remaining Careers are the only ones left."

I take a deep breath and look down at my leg. There is a small puncture wound where the arrow went into my skin, and my pants are ripped, but it is definitely healing. "Thank you," I say. "For…you know."

He shrugs. "It was the least I could do. I was not about to let you die up here because of something silly like an arrow to the leg."

"How…how long have you been up here?"

"Since the start," he tells me. "I was the only one who even dared it." He leans against a tall rock and folds his arms across his chest. "It provides me with a clear view of everything that goes on, and nobody knows that I have been watching their every move." He pauses. "Except for the forest. I am assuming that is where you went. Clever. I was expecting you to die back at the Cornucopia, to be honest." I am frozen, just watching this boy as he watches me. "But I suppose you are full of surprises, Damian McGinty."

"Please," I murmur. "Call me Damian."

That funny half-smile again. "And you may call me Cameron."

"So…you say you have seen it all," I state.

"That is correct."

"So…what happened to Hannah?" I steal a quick look at his face to see if it betrays any emotion of grief, of love lost.

He is stoic. "She passed away on the first day, as I'm sure you saw. Tried to run up here with me but got sliced by one of Kurt's swords and bled out."

Oh. "I am sorry," I say.

"It is okay," he replies. "Well, not really _okay_, but I will move on."

My heart beats a little faster. "Was she your…"

"Close friend," he says. "We lived next door to each other all our lives. Grew up together, as you would say. Went to school together, worked together, that sort of thing." He takes a look at my face and laughs. "What, did you think she was my girlfriend?"

"I…I saw you holding hands this one time and I thought…maybe…" I trail off.

He chuckles. "No, no, no. Hannah was like a sister to me. Nothing more, nothing less. I mourned her death that night, but I realized I had to push it all aside so that I can keep my head in the game, as it were." He regards me for a moment. "And what of your Lindsay?"

"Oh!" I can feel my face grow warm. "She wasn't 'my' Lindsay. We weren't even friends until we were selected as the tributes from District Ten."

Cameron sits down with a sigh. "You know," he says slowly, "hers is the only death that was out of my line of vision. Do you know anything about it?"

"She…well…see, she had built this fire, and Quinn must've seen it or smelled the smoke or something, because she attacked and stabbed her in the stomach. I heard Lindsay scream and ran towards her for all I was worth, but it was too late. Well, almost. I offered to fix her wounds, maybe buy her a little more time, but she refused. She just wanted me to hold her and stay with her until she…died. So I did."

"Died in your arms, then," Cameron says. "Interesting. And you're sure nothing went on between the two of you?"

"She loved me," I said quietly. "But I did not return her feelings." I do not understand something, though. "Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

He is silent for several moments. "You are not the only one who is not a killer." He turns his face towards the artificial sun. "You may stay here, if you like. By hiding out here, I intend to let them create chaos amongst themselves until they are all dead. It is the strategy of a coward, but it is the one I have chosen. They are strong, but they are not very bright. They will hardly notice that I remain here."

"But…what if it comes down…to the two of us?" I question.

"We will figure that out if we get to that point."

"How have you been surviving? Is there food or water up here?"

"I sneak down to the stream at night, nowhere near their camp. I fill up a container with water and pilfer food off of fallen contenders. I have not eaten much, but it has been enough to keep me alive, as you can see." He looks me over from head to toe. "Follow me."

It could be a trap.

He could be leading me to my death right now.

But I trust this boy with my life.

He brings me further up the mountain, near to the backside of it. There is no way anyone could see him hiding back here, and I must admit, I am impressed. He brings me to a cave, a small hallowed-out space barely big enough for two people. It will certainly be a tight squeeze.

In this fading light of day—how long _was_ I passed out, anyway?—he looks beautiful.

"Shall we eat?" He asks.

"Oh! Yes," I dig in my backpack. "Here," I hand him a portion of my remaining rations.

"No," he refuses it. "I do not wish to take your food. I have plenty of my own. But thank you for offering."

"Alright," I take it back. True to his word, he has food hidden in his cave. We eat in silence and wait for the projections to occur. I have not heard any cannon booms in the time that I have been awake, but that does not mean someone has died in the time that I was sleeping. Oddly enough, when the projections do come, they report that no one has died today. Ah, well.

At least I have a place to sleep, a place to hide from the Careers.

And I am with Cameron, the most beautiful boy I have ever seen.

Perhaps the odds are in my favor this time around.

**To be continued…**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Looks as if Damian is safe and sound with Cameron. Who knows how long it will last? Will Damian admit his feelings? And what will happen to the Careers? **

**Eliminated: None were killed on the fourth day. Seven tributes remain.  
**

**Chapter 19**

I wake up on the fifth day to a deafening roar.

"What is that _noise_?"

Cameron sits up, instantly alert. He cocks his head in the direction of the entrance to our small cave. "No, it cannot be…" he mutters.

"Can't be what?" I manage to uncurl my body from its sleeping position and stretch. I am tense and stiff from sleeping cramped in my half of the cave, not wanting to sleep too close to Cameron, not even for body heat. "Can't be what, Cameron?"

He holds up a finger, silencing me. I keep still and quiet, trying to hear what Cameron is hearing. But what exactly am I listening for, anyway? He stands up and goes to the cave's entrance, peering outside. "A storm is coming," he says. "A big storm. The wind is already beginning to kick up. I do not think we are going to be able to leave the cave all day. It will be the safest place. From the looks of it, there will be lots of wind and rain, perhaps even lightning. No, we are going to say here today."

"The Careers," my face brightens. "They don't have anywhere to go! Maybe the storm will wipe them all out!"

"Oh, I am sure they will find a way. They have been training for this since they could walk. No, they will be fine. At most, one will be dead by the end of the day."

"Why do you talk like that?" I ask.

He looks confused. "Like what?"

"So…slowly," I say. "And so…precisely."

"Each District has its own dialect, I suppose," he says. "Did you not notice it before, talking to some of the other tributes?"

It makes me think for a moment. "Yes," I admit. "Now that you say it, I have noticed that." I look down at my feet. "What do I sound like to you?"

He shrugs. "I cannot see how that matters."

I try not to blush, but I can't help it; there's just something about this boy. "I was never aware that I sounded different until now."

"There is much you need to learn about Panem," Cameron says, still staring outside, where I can see, true to his word, it is beginning to rain.

"Like…like what?" I ask quietly.

"You do know why the Hunger Games came around, correct?"

"Oh, yes," I reply automatically. "Doesn't everybody know that story? District Thirteen tried to revolt, and they were destroyed. The rest of the Districts were taught a lesson as punishment. The Games serve as a reminder to never try to revolt again, for that is what will happen: you will be destroyed." The answer is straight out of a textbook, and it is one every child learns by the time they are five.

"That is what they tell you in school, yes," he murmurs. "But I am not so sure. I believe District Thirteen is still alive and well. Oh, yes. They—and 'they' referring to the officials in the Capitol, the President and the like—just want us to believe that Thirteen was destroyed."

"Oh, that's silly," I laugh. "We've seen footage of the wreckage—there's no way that Thirteen could still exist! It's been gone for years!"

He turns around quickly, his eyes flashing. "So you do not believe?"

"Well…well, no," I admit.

He shakes his head. "Well, I do. I only wish I could live long enough to prove that Thirteen is still in existence, and that they are operating in secret, underground."

My mouth falls open. "Underground?"

"They have to be." His eyes are wild, his hair unkempt. "There is no other way to explain it. They could not rebuild upwards—so they rebuild _down_ instead. They probably started to build underground shelters before the revolt, so they could hide there when the Capitol began to bomb. A few sacrificed their lives, that is sure, but there were enough to keep the population thriving." He begins to pace. "I will bet that their technology is far greater than the technologies we have in the other Districts. If only we could harvest it, learn from them in some way…"

He is delirious. He has to be. Everyone knows that Thirteen was completely destroyed. They show footage of it each and every year. He is not coherent right now. "Cameron, do you hear yourself right now? Thirteen is gone, and we all know it." I look around. I never knew where there would be a camera trained on me. "You're going to get us both killed with that kind of talk."

His face falls. "You are right," he concedes. "No, I was just…talking. I am sorry. Even if I did manage to get out of here alive, there is no way I would be able to prove my theory. Just…forget all that I have said."

There is a loud crash of lightning, and I shriek. "Are you sure we're safe in here?"

"Positive," Cameron affirms. "We have food and water. It will not last longer than a day. Tomorrow, we can venture out and try to scrounge up more supplies. You are just going to have to trust me."

"I do already," I murmur.

He looks surprised. "You already trust me?"

I shrug. "You haven't given me reason not to…"

"Well then." He sits down next to me. Another loud clap of thunder sounds from overhead, and I put my head in my knees. "Are you afraid of thunder?"

"No," I try to laugh, but I know it sounds forced.

"Do you want me to come over there, then?"

"No, no, I'm fine," I lie, though I would love nothing more.

"Well then, I am going to go and look and see what is happening," he says.

"Be careful," I warn. He nods curtly and peers outside. I see him disappear around the corner, to where I know he can see the Careers. He returns a few minutes later, his clothes drenched, and he is shivering.

"A fire," he says. "Lightning has struck near their camp, and there is a fire. The rain should be able to put it out, and it is not headed this way." A different kind of boom sounds, but I can't tell if it is something falling or the cannon.

"What was that?"

He pauses and listens thoughtfully. "I do not know. I guess we will find out later."

We do not talk much for the rest of the day, just a few words here and there. Mostly, we just watch the rain fall and try to stay warm and dry. When I hear the Anthem, I get up and go to see if any of the Careers died in the fire. I hold my breath; only Brittany's face is visible through the clouds.

Two down, four to go.

"Brittany is dead," I tell Cameron. "The girl from Four, the one who shot me with the arrow. The rest are alive."

"So there are six of us left now," he says offhandedly. "And four are Careers."

"Yes," I confirm. "I…Cameron?"

"Yes?"

I cannot bring myself to say what I am thinking. _What if we're the last two standing? Would you kill me? Would you rather die than watch _me_ die? _"Goodnight, Cameron."

"Goodnight, Damian."

**To be continued…**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games. "The Hanging Tree" is from Mockingjay (which I also do not own). **

**Note: Well, six contenders remain. Let's see what happens on the sixth day…**

**Eliminated: Brittany.**

**Chapter 20**

The next morning is bright and sunny and the air is crisp. "Whew, it sure is nice outside."

"I wonder…" Cameron trails off. "It is a brilliant concept…but if this is the case…"

Oh, I hate it when he talks cryptically like this. "What are you on about?"

He scratches his chin. "Well, perhaps we are experiencing all four seasons, one per day."

"Seasons?"

"Oh, honestly," he sighs. "Think about it. There was a storm yesterday, that could be a summer storm, one of those rain-and-wind ones…a hurricane, I believe they were called. And today it is crisp and sunny, this could be autumn. If this is true, then it shall be very cold tomorrow. It might even snow."

"Winter…Cameron, are you sure?" If he's right, we could freeze to death tomorrow.

"I do not know," he shakes his head. "We should be okay here, I hope. The Careers…"

"They could freeze," I snap my fingers. "Brilliant!"

"I suppose the Game-Makers are trying to eradicate us first, though. Perhaps the storm that killed Brittany was meant to be for us. And if it _does_ snow tomorrow, they will mean for us to die that way. Remember, they want to keep the Careers alive for as long as they can…at least, what they can control…"

"Cameron?" I say suddenly. "I…I heard you like music. Can…you sing for me?"

The question surprises me almost as much as it surprises him. He collects himself and says, "So you saw my interview with Caesar. Well, I have to tell you, I am not a terribly good singer…"

"Oh, please, sing something for me. I promise not to judge you until after you have finished."

He stares me down, regarding me from head-to-toe. "Very well." He stands at the entrance of the cave, looking out at who-knew-what. "Are you, are you coming to the tree where they strung up a man they say murdered three? Strange things did happen here; no stranger would it be if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."

His voice…there is no way to describe his voice. It is so immediately soothing, that I sink down to the floor of the cave, spellbound, entranced. It is a song I have heard once or twice before, but never in this way, never so…lovingly sung.

"Are you, are you coming to the tree where the dead man called out for his love to flee? Strange things did happen here; no stranger would it be if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."

I can't describe the feeling inside of me. I have never felt this way before, ever. I feel like I cannot breathe, cannot think clearly, cannot _move_, for he has floored me. What is this feeling? Why can't I stop staring at him? Why does it feel as if we are the only two people in all of Panem? It is as if we are not even in the Hunger Games, as if we are in another world entirely.

"Are you, are you coming to the tree where I told you to run so we could be free? Strange things did happen here; no stranger would it be if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."

I feel suddenly dizzy, and I know it isn't because I have not eaten or drank or slept. I am well-rested and fed enough to keep going. So why do I feel as if I have been stricken by a virus? I feel my forehead to find that I am, in fact, warm. In fact, my cheeks and the back of my neck are warm, too.

There are two explanations for this:

I really am becoming sick…

…or I am falling in love with Cameron.

"Are you, are you coming to the tree? Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me? Strange things did happen here; no stranger would it be if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."

Silence. Pure silence. "C…Cameron…" I breathe.

"I know, that was not the best," he says offhandedly. "But it was the first song that I could think of. Have you heard it before?"

"Y…yes," I manage to say. "But…but never like _that_. You're really talented."

He smiles pleasantly. "Oh, I am not as good as you say." But his eyes are alight at my complements. He peers closer at me. "Are you feeling alright?"

My face burns hotter still. "Yes," I lie, although the truth is I feel as if he has stolen my breath, and I do not know how to get it back.

"Well, grab your backpack. We are going to head down the mountain. We need more water, and possibly more food."

"But—the Careers! We'll get killed!"

"We will die without food or water," he says sternly. "Now, come along. There are four of them, and two of us. If we stay close to the mountain, they should not spot us." I stand shakily on my feet and sling my backpack up around my shoulders. I follow him down the mountain, down a winding trail that I have not seen before (perhaps because I was unconscious the first time I came all the way up here). He motions for me to be quiet, and we sneak to the origins of the stream, collecting water in a container that has been in my backpack for safekeeping. My hands are filthy; I quickly rinse them off the best I can. The water feels rejuvenating, relaxing. I wish I could further bathe in it, but I know I must not. I must be quiet and still, for if the Careers catch me, it is all over.

Before the Games, I had lost the will to live. Cameron has rejuvenated that will. I want to survive, to prove them all wrong. I want to be remembered for something good I did, not for being weak. I want to be an inspiration for future tributes.

If Cameron dies—and oh, how I will die inside if he does!—I want to carry out his dream of proving that District Thirteen still exists (although I do not believe this myself, I will do whatever it takes to put his soul at rest after he dies).

"Are you ready?" His voice jolts me back.

"Yes," I say, and he leads the way back up the mountain. We stay outside for most of the daylight hours, keeping out of sight from the Careers, but enjoying the weather and each other's company. Not a single Career died, but that is okay.

For I am with the most amazing person I have ever met.

And I am alive.

**To be continued…**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Heading into the home stretch…sort of. Six chapters left after this one, ack.**

**Eliminated: No one died on the sixth day.**

**Chapter 21**

I wake up, and I am shivering.

I have been in the Games for one week, I tell myself, and I am still alive.

I have never believed in miracles until this moment.

I shiver. My breath is coming out in little white puffs—but why is it so cold?

"It is snowing," Cameron says dully.

"It is?" My eyes light up and I go to look. Sure enough, white flakes are falling to the ground. "Wow, it's so beautiful!"

"Yes, but I fear that we will freeze," he says.

"We will not. We have each other for body heat, and we have flares."

He sighs. "Very well. Come, sit by me. We must keep close today. Again, by my calculations, it will be spring tomorrow. It seems as if every other day—every other 'season' to put it like that—has poor weather, storms and cold and whatnot. Therefore, tomorrow, we will have not much to worry about."

I look at him. Sit by him? Keep close? All day?

Oh no, no. Surely he can't mean this. My pounding heart will give away my feelings for him if we are to sit close enough to share body heat for warmth.

"Well?"

I shake my head quickly to focus and go to sit next to him, my mouth dry and my face again warm. "I…Cameron?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me about District Seven."

He smiles to himself, that familiar half-smile of his. "It is not much, but it is home. As you are aware, it is the lumbering District. There are lots of trees and mountains there. Mostly, there are trees. Many families help to make paper and paper products for the Districts. We are not poor, but we are not rich, either. I do not know what else you want me to tell you. Most people in Seven have red or blonde hair, and almost all have light eyes, green for the most part. Like…Hannah…"

I don't know what to say. "I truly am sorry about Hannah."

He shrugs. "What can we do, really? It is just some cruel twist of fate. But I will tell you this, Damian: I would gladly trade my life for hers."

It shocks me. "I…so you're saying…you'd die in place of her?"

"Yes. That is what I am saying."

"You must've really loved her," I mumble.

He hears me. How can he not? We are practically on top of each other to stay alive. "Yes. I did love her. But again I say, as a sister. She was so full of life, so funny and bright and kind. You have never met a more gentle soul in your life than Hannah. I find it cruel that a person like her should die in a gruesome manner, while a person as messed up as I am stays alive in the most vicious of all situations…by running away and hiding, instead of confronting death."

I can't breathe. I just can't. Why? Why does he think he's so messed up? As far as I can tell, he's a kind and caring person. If he was not, wouldn't he have killed me when he had the chance? Wouldn't he have told me that I was on my own after I had healed from my injury? But no, he has taken me in. He has allowed me to share his food and water and shelter.

As far as I can see, he is perfection.

"Why are you messed up?" I finally ask.

"I just am," he says, point-blank. "It is very complicated, Damian. I wish I could explain it, but I just cannot."

"Well, what else do we have to do?" I gesture outside to the swirling snow.

"Damian…look, you are a nice person. I am surprised that you have lived this far, a good person such as you. It seems that the best tributes—as in the nicest and the ones with the most heart—die before the Careers, and they die in the most horrid ways imaginable. Look at Hannah. Look at Marissa, who died avenging the boy she loved. I cannot see how you, the one who they all said would be the first to die, is sitting here with me one week later."

"But what does all that have to do with you not telling me why you're messed up?" I try not to blush at the complements he is giving me, but I am failing miserably.

He sighs heavily. "You would not understand. Not because you are not intelligent enough, but because you have not been in my shoes. You do not know what I have been through, back in Seven. You do not _know_ me, Damian."

I look at the floor, then back up at him, peering through my eyelashes. "But I want to," I whisper. "I want to know you."

We sit in silence for what seems to be hours, neither of us saying a word. I do not know if there are even any words _to_ say.

"I am going to see what is happening with the Careers," he says, and he walks out into the snow. I worry; how long would it take to freeze to death in this weather? A few minutes pass by. "Damian!" He suddenly yells. "Come here! Quickly!"

I panic; is he hurt? I run as fast as I can, slipping a little on the ice. "What is it? What's wrong?" But he is fine. He is staring towards the Career's camp. They have built several large fires and seem to be doing okay. But there is yelling. The wind carries their voices up the mountain, and I can hear every word.

"Stay away from my girlfriend!" Finn is yelling.

"She doesn't _want_ you anymore," Puck snaps back. "She wants a _real_ man."

"Knock it off," Kurt snaps at both of them, most likely rolling his eyes. "And you're going to get us all killed with your idiotic behaviors. So shut up and sit down."

Finn does not see it coming. How could he have seen it coming? It comes out of nowhere, absolutely out of _nowhere_.

Quinn sneaks up behind him and puts her arms around him, as if to restrain him from Puck, as a romantic sort of gesture if you looked like it like that.

But then there is a flash of silver, and she has slit his throat.

_Boom_.

Kurt is out of his chair like a shot. "What the-"

Quinn stands there, breathing heavily, her hands coated in blood. Puck and Kurt are silent. They exchange a look.

What made her do that?

Is it true? Do people really go insane in the arena and do things they ordinarily wouldn't?

Cameron touches my arm and looks straight into my eyes for a moment before turning and heading back to the cave.

I give one last look around.

The snow is red.

There are three of them and two of us.

Suddenly, my odds of survival are very good.

But what about Cameron?

And why is he, in his mind, messed up?

With a sigh, I retreat to the cave, sitting silently next to him, where we stay close together for the rest of this seventh day.

**To be continued…**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games. What a shock.  
**

**Note: Five tributes and six chapters left, dear ones. Hmm, wonder what will happen…oh wait, I already know what will happen! **

**Eliminated: Finn.**

**Chapter 22**

I am still reeling with yesterday's events as I wake up to find that the weather is much warmer and the snow has melted away. I cannot believe, even hours later, that Quinn slit Finn's throat. I wonder if now Puck and Kurt will turn on her…or if it was a conspiracy between Quinn and Puck the entire time. While it is possible, I can't ignore the stunned expressions on their faces. If they had known it was coming—especially Puck—he would not have looked so surprised.

I can't erase from my memory the sight of the red snow.

I blush as I realize that I fell asleep against Cameron. He is not yet awake. I watch his chest rise and fall. It is a relaxing noise, one that I would not mind falling asleep to. But I dare not tell him about my feelings for him. I fear he will not feel the same way, and besides, this is neither the time nor place for romance. He stirs, and I immediately reel back, not wanting to get caught staring. His eyes flutter open, green-blue eyes framed by impossibly long lashes. "Um…good morning."

"Yeah," he grunts, pulling himself into a more comfortable position. "What is it like?"

I know what he is talking about. "A little bit of a breeze, and the snow is melted."

He nods. "Spring."

I nod, too. "Just as you said."

He sees that I am distant. He must see it, or he wouldn't ask me, "Thinking about it still?"

I can't lie. "Yes. I can't decide if it was a conspiracy or not. If it was, Puck is a better actor than he let on. If it wasn't, what made Quinn snap like that?"

"I do not know, nor do I really care to. She did not kill either of us, so it is not my problem what caused her to kill Finn. Perhaps it was a petty quarrel."

"But they were…in love. Or so they claimed." I sigh, lost in thought and worry. Who's to say that she won't come after us next? Who's to say she won't turn on Puck or Kurt next and then seek us out up here in this mountain?

Do they even realize that we're still in the Games?

"Damian?"

My breath hitches. "Yes?"

"You have asked me many questions. Now, it is my turn."

My heart pounds nervously. "Go ahead."

"Tell me about your family."

Oh. Well, that's an easy question. "I have two siblings, an older sister and an older brother. They don't live with us any longer, though, as they're starting families of their own. It's just me and my parents nowadays. Well, and my horse, Sadie. We all look alike, but I guess everyone from Ten does: black hair and blue eyes."

"And are you close to your brother and sister?"

"Mm-hmm. Sometimes I wish they didn't treat me like such a child, though."

"I understand. I have two older sisters, myself."

This catches my interest. "Really? You do?"

"Yes. Like yours, they do not live with me and my parents anymore. I just wish I could live long enough to see my future nieces and nephews."

"Don't say that. You're going to live, Cameron. You'll be able to tell them stories of your adventures in the Hunger Games."

He laughs bitterly. "Adventures of hiding in a cave, you mean? Ah, yes. Their uncle, the coward who won his Games by running away. No. I want them to be proud of me. I want them to tell their friends that I died an honorable death. My hope is that they will be spared from the horrors of the Hunger Games and that one day, the Games will cease to exist entirely. They will be able to say that I died to protect them."

A world in which the Games did not exist? Where the Districts and the Capitol coexisted peacefully with one another? Oh, it is a glorious dream, but one that I fear is impossible. I don't like the way Cameron keeps talking about death.

Was that how Lindsay felt when I kept harping on about dying?

Because I feel _awful_.

It's almost as if I'm in lo—

No, impossible. I can't be in love with Cameron. But I fear that it is true, that I am falling in love, that I would stake my life on the line for his.

Lindsay…she had died for me, hadn't she? There must have been _some_ reason she didn't want me to heal her. I had the means to, and she could have lived a few days more.

I feel a teardrop fall onto my pants, and it startles me. I had never been much of a crier until I was selected as a tribute. Since, I had cried enough tears to last a lifetime.

"Are you…crying?"

My head is reeling. This is too overwhelming. It is all much too overwhelming. I stand up and quickly exit the cave, rounding the corner and plastering myself against the wall as I remember that the Careers lurk not too far away. I close my eyes and breathe, trying to concentrate on nothing but breathing as so I don't cry.

I jump a mile when I feel someone touch my shoulder.

"What is wrong, Damian? Did I say something to upset you? If so, I apologize."

"N…n…no…j…just…h…homesick," I stumble over the false words.

"Understandable," he says. "I cannot say that I miss home, though I do miss some of the memories."

"What do you mean?"

"There is still so much about me that you have not learned yet," he says. "And, judging by the way you ran out there, I have much to learn about you, too."

He is right. Here we have been for nearly four days now, and we still have not fully uncovered every secret. "You're right," I murmur.

He regards me with those eyes of his, as he so often does. "Come," he says, "let us go and learn what we can in whatever time we have."

And I follow him.

And I realize I can't hide these feelings for much longer.

I have to tell him. But how?

**To be continued…**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games.**

**Note: Here's an exciting chapter for you guys. No more filler chapters from here on out, I promise. Also, picture the death in this chapter like the death of the Old Hag in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Minus the vultures.  
**

**Eliminated: None were eliminated on the eighth day.**

**Chapter 23**

How I am still alive on the ninth day of the Hunger Games, I don't know. I can already hear rain pitter-pattering on the roof of the cave; ah, so it was going to be one of those days now, wasn't it? Well, all the more reason to stay inside with Cameron.

"I'll be right back," he says, and I nod. I know he will just go outside, relieve himself, and come right back, what with the rain and all. I draw my knees to my chest. The sound of the falling rain is soothing. I don't mind it one bit. Perhaps I will take a nap later, or Cameron and I can spend the day chatting. With any luck, another Career will fall today, and that makes less worry for us.

But then I hear a scream—Cameron's.

And I run towards him. There are no second thoughts, no second guessing. I just run.

By the time I get to him, he is bleeding. Quinn leers over him, knife in hand. A split-second's glance at the wound she has inflicted upon Cameron tells me that it is not fatal, that I can heal him and he will be okay. She brings her arm back, ready to strike again.

I lunge at her.

She has already killed Lindsay.

But I am not about to let her kill Cameron.

I manage to catch her off-guard and knock her to the ground for a moment. Her green cat-eyes flash dangerously, and for a brief moment, I panic. There has to be something I can do to save him, to save me, to do away with her.

In the distance, a thunderclap.

Maybe…just maybe…

She looks between Cameron, laying on the ground bleeding, and me. I suppose she decides to let his torture drag on longer, because she turns on me now, still wielding her knife. I instinctively back up, holding up my hands. "Quinn, please…don't kill him."

She laughs. "Oh, but I will. I think I'll kill you first, though. You're weak…a nobody from District Ten…you're nothing, Damian McGinty."

I keep backing up until I am nearly at the edge.

She lunges at me.

My hands still up, I grab her wrists just before her knife can graze my cheek. With all my strength, I throw her off the edge. And watch her fall.

Problem solved, right?

Wrong.

She manages to grab on to a ledge halfway down, and using the knife, begins to scale the face of the mountain.

I have never been so afraid in my life, watching this crazy girl use a _knife_ to help her climb a mountain, the rain streaking down her beautiful face, coming to kill me…

I back further away, praying for a miracle.

A creak. I look up; a large rock is teetering perilously above us.

It could just work. _Come on, fall, fall_ I silently beg.

She has made it to the surface now, and is mere feet away from me. I am breathing heavily, hardly daring to peer up at the ever-teetering rock. "So that's the way you want to play it, huh?" She sneers. "Good. It will only make killing you all the more sweet."

_Oh please, rock, fall and let that be the end of it, the end of her…_

Another loud clap of thunder. Lightning strikes somewhere.

I feel the ground shake beneath my feet.

The rock teeters once, twice, stays for a moment…

Begins to fall.

I leap out of the way, handing hard on my stomach, scraping my elbows on the way down. Quinn shrieks. I turn my head just in time to see the rock strike the ground right in front of where she is standing. The piece of the mountain beneath her crumbles.

For the first time, I see fear in those pretty eyes of hers.

She yells as she starts to tumble towards the earth, the large rock tumbling down with her. I scramble on my stomach towards the edge in time to see the rock trap and crush her thin body to the Earth below.

_Boom_.

A sigh of relief. She is dead. It is just Puck and Kurt against me and Cameron…

Cameron! Oh no! There has not been another boom of the cannon, so he is still alive. At least, he is for now. I run towards the spot where Quinn left him to bleed. He is half-conscious, bleeding from his leg and arm. "Cameron! Can you hear me?"

He grunts. "Damian? Ugh, my leg hurts…and my arm…"

"Don't worry," I say. "I'll get you help…hang in there…" I look up at the sky desperately. If there was ever a time for a sponsor's help, this is the time. I do not know if I have enough healing ointment to heal both of his wounds—one of which looks particularly deep and nasty. "Can you stand up?" He hesitates, but nods. I sling his good arm around my shoulders and help him to his feet. He leans against me as I bring him slowly back to the cave. I ease him to the floor. "Stay right there…just…try not to move too much. I'll be right back." I dash back outside, searching the skies. A quick glance towards the Career's camp. I am sure that Puck and Kurt assume that Quinn is still alive, that either Cameron or I are dead. Won't they be in for a shock tonight! Hands shaking and adrenaline coursing through me, I keep watching the skies, waiting for a package to float down.

I start to lose hope when it doesn't come.

Then I catch something out of the corner of my eye; it floats down and lands on a nearby ledge. I reach it with ease, hands still trembling as I open it.

Healing ointment, enough to save Cameron, and then some. I take a moment to read the card attached.

_Damian,_

_You have exceeded all of our expectations. I look forward to your return to Ten. Fight to the end. Make me proud._

_John_

I hurry back as fast as my legs can carry me. Blood, so much blood…I sacrifice some of our water rations to clean him up before applying the ointment. He has closed his eyes. I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest as he drifts in and out of sleep. I manage to get the bleeding to stop, but he has already lost a fair amount of blood, and I do not know if he will fully recover. After what seems like ages, he comes to. "Damian?"

"Hi," I whisper.

"What…what happened?" He groans in pain.

"Quinn is dead." I still can't believe that it happened, that she is at last dead, that I have gotten my revenge for Lindsay.

Lindsay. I hope she is at peace now.

"But…how?"

"Long story," I say. "The point is, she is dead, and we are down to two Careers."

"I do not understand," he tries to sit up. "You…you killed her? For me?"

"I didn't! A rock did. Again, a long story."

"Well…thanks for healing me," he says.

"Consider it payment in kind for healing me last week," I tell him.

As I look into his eyes, I know that it is now or never.

I lean down and kiss his lips.

And, oh, it feels like falling. Falling, falling, falling down an impossibly long hole. His lips are rough, and he is kissing me back, and I have never felt _anything_ like this…I force myself to break away.

I can't talk. I can't breathe. I don't want to be the first to break the silence.

"Damian," he says slowly. "What took you so long?"

**To be continued…**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or The Hunger Games. **

**Note: Three chapters after this one, dears. **

**Eliminated: Quinn.**

**Chapter 24**

"_Damian…what took you so long?"_

I can't breathe. I can't think. He actually didn't mind kissing me! He liked it! _Answer him, you fool!_ "I just…I didn't know if you felt the same," I say lamely.

"Of course I do," he says as if he is stating "of course the grass is green" or "of course the sky is blue". It is so simply stated, so…clear to him, and it baffles me.

"I…what? You mean that?"

He reaches up and caresses my face. It causes me to shiver, this gesture of pure affection. "I do mean that. With all of my heart." I close my eyes and let his hand trace my features, as if he is memorizing them for himself. "Remember how I said I was messed up?" I murmur a yes, not wanting to break the spell. "I always knew I was different," he says, drawing his hand away. I open my eyes and look into his. "I knew I was not attracted to girls the way I should be. I felt so isolated from the other children at school. Hannah was not just my best friend; she was my _only_ friend. My parents did not understand. Do parents ever understand? Hannah was the only one who did…and now she is dead."

"I…I am so, so truly sorry about Hannah." What else can I say? "But…your family…surely they understand something. What about your sisters?"

"They tried," he says with a sigh. "But I could tell they did not really believe me. I wanted someone, anyone to believe me, to understand how I felt. True, Hannah did, but I would have given anything to have let my parents see who I really am."

I take his closest hand between my own. "I see the true you, Cameron. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It means everything to me, Damian, and I cannot express that in enough words. I watched the skies every night to make sure that you were still alive."

"Oh," I smile. "I did the same for you."

He returns the smile. "Fortune smiled upon me when you showed up at the bottom of this mountain. Yes, you were in need of assistance, and you were bleeding, but I saw it as the opportunity to get to know you better, to protect you, to _keep_ you alive, especially after I saw how they wanted to destroy you so badly."

"They still do," I murmur. "At least, Quinn did. I'm not sure about the other two. I don't even know how we're going to get rid of them."

"We will figure out a plan," he says. "I just want to sleep for now."

"Oh. I probably should rest, too."

He opens his arms. "Come," he says. I look at him curiously. "I want you to sleep in my arms. I can protect you better that way while my leg heals. If they are going to kill you, they are going to have to go through me first."

I want to. I want to sleep encompassed in his arms, his body warm around me, my head on his chest. Without another thought, I move and let his arms circle my body. "You are so beautiful," he whispers in my ear. "So fragile and so beautiful." I seem to fit against him perfectly, as he is taller than I am. I rest my head on his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath me. His breath breezes through my hair, and it is utterly soothing. "Sweet dreams," he whispers.

I fall asleep to the sounds of our breathing, perfectly in synch, rhythmic and deep.

We wake up the next morning as the sun rises. "Good morning, beautiful."

I crack a wide grin. "Good morning, Cameron."

"Did you sleep well?" His arms are still around me; he never let go.

"Yes, very well." It was the best I've slept in weeks. "How is your leg? And your arm?"

"They are feeling better. A few more dabs of the ointment should do the trick. Who sent that, by the way? I know there was not enough left over from your injuries to heal mine."

"John." I still have the note; I show him. "He was the mentor for me and Lindsay."

"Ah," he says, reading it. "Well, then. So the cameras have been on us. As I would expect. Well, rather, I assume they turned on us when they saw what was going on with Quinn. I do wonder, though, if they happened to catch what happened afterwards."

I jolt away. "Do you think there's one in here?" My voice is shrill, and I know it.

He chuckles. "If there is, it is very well hidden. No, my guess is that there are a few on those rocks out there, enough to get some good angles of the mountain area. There are some in the meadow, that is for sure, and probably a decent amount in the forest."

"So…they saw me with Lindsay," I say flatly.

"I think it was nice, what you did for you. You made her comfortable while she was dying. You may not have been friends, but you were teammates. If you were a careless soul, you would have left her there to die alone."

I shrug. "I guess, yeah, that's true."

"I am feeling better," he stands up. "I am going for a walk."

"Oh…I'll join you," I stand, too.

"No," he insists. "Stay here, guard our food and water. I am just going to go and stretch out, perhaps get some more food. There is no need for you to come, too."

I watch him leave. Why doesn't he want me to go with him? I pace restlessly. I wish I had a watch to keep track of the time. At least today I can use the sun—however artificial it is—to see how much time has passed since he's left.

I do not think he will abandon me, but the thought does pass through my mind.

I start when I hear him come back.

There is fresh blood on his clothes.

"I…Cameron, what happened to you?"

_Boom_.

"Kurt is dead," he informs me.

"You didn't…did you _kill_ him?" I gasp.

He shrugs casually. "I was getting a drink of water, he snuck up on me, I heard him, and I turned his sword against him." Upon seeing my horror-stricken face, he rushes on. "I could not leave you, Damian. I could not let him kill me. I _would not_ let him kill me."

"Cameron…you have killed a man…" I back away from him.

"I did it to protect you," he says. "Damian, forgive me. He was going to kill me and then come for you, I just knew it. I was not about to let that happen."

"But you…I never thought…"

"Shh," he embraces me. I am helpless. I let myself sink into his body once again. "Shh. There is only one of them left, just Puck, and then it will be us. Do not worry, beautiful one. I swear to you that I will protect you until he is dead. I love you."

I blink, my stomach swooping and my heart racing. "I love you, too."

And this time, he kisses me first.

**To be continued…**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I (still) don't own Glee or The Hunger Games. **

**Note: Well it's two-on-one now, so this can only end well, I feel…or will it? Oh, the suspense of this story must (not) be killing you by now since I'm obviously not going to kill off our narrator. And to the anon reviewer (Liz), I am not writing a sequel.**

**Eliminated: Kurt. **

**Chapter 25**

"What day is it?" I ponder aloud.

"Twelve," Cameron says with certainty.

"Oh wow." I never thought I'd live twelve minutes, let alone twelve _days_. "I still can't believe I'm here. Not just here, alive, but _here_, with you."

"I know," he murmurs. "But we are not safe until Puck is dead. You have not seen all that he can do. When you were hiding those first few days, I saw him snap the neck of one of the girl tributes with his bare hands. He killed her, Damian, just like that. And I do not think he will stop until we are both dead."

"I'll take him down," I say fiercely. "I'll take him down for you. I won't let him get to you, Cameron, to us."

He puts a hand on my shoulder, and all the rage that had been pent-up inside of me subsides. "No," he says. "I will not allow you to do this by yourself. We will both take him down, together."

I take in a deep breath and let it out. "Okay. Okay. When?"

"Tonight," Cameron narrows his eyes in determination.

I gulp. Tonight? That's too soon! I'm not ready! What if I die trying to destroy him?

What if Cameron dies?

What if I have a direct hand in Puck's murder, and then I continue to live? I would have to live with that for the rest of my life, that I killed a man.

Even if it is for my survival.

Even if it is to save the man I love.

I am not ready for Death to beckon me yet. I want to run away with Cameron, to try to find this District Thirteen, to live with him for the rest of our lives. I know this is improbable, but I don't care. Improbable is not the same as impossible.

"I love you," I tell him. "And I don't…I _can't_…watch you die."

"And you think I can watch _you_ die? No. I would rather die a thousand deaths than have you die one."

I turn away from him. "What do you think happens…you know?"

"After one dies?" I nod, not wanting to look at his face. "I do not know. Nobody knows. Perhaps our souls fly away from our bodies and attach themselves elsewhere. Perhaps when one person dies, another person is born, and the deceased is, in turn, reborn. When Lindsay died, did you notice anything?"

"It was as if the…the fight…it just…left her eyes," I mumble. "She looked so…peaceful. I can't really describe it."

"You told me she died in your arms." I flinch; does he really have to bring this up right now, right here? "Did she feel any…lighter?"

I shrug. "I wasn't really focused on that, to be honest."

"I don't blame you," he says. He wraps his arms around my waist. "But I promise, I am not going anywhere without you."

My breath hitches in my throat. "You promise me this?"

He kisses the back of my neck, the top of my head, the top of my thin collarbone. "Yes," he murmurs in my ear. "I promise this to you." A low sob escapes my throat before I can stop it, and he hears. "What is the matter?"

"I'm _scared_," I choke out.

"Of what?" He strokes my hair soothingly. "Of dying?"

Do I dare tell him the truth? "Of…living without you."

He pauses. "You will not have to," he says softly.

I whirl around. "Even if—by some miracle—we get out of here alive, both of us, you will return to Seven and I to Ten. We may never get to see each other again."

"This is so," he reasons. "But I'd rather die tonight or tomorrow than live a hundred years without having known you." He looks over my shoulder. "It is getting dark. We best be going now."

I take one last look around our cave. At the spot we first kissed. At the spot where I knew I loved him. My home for past eight days. "Let's go."

I follow him silently down the mountain trail, making absolutely sure to not be seen or heard. Cameron holds up a finger to warn me to keep still, and I do, the both of us listening intently. We wander out into the meadow.

What was that? I'm positive I heard a noise. Cameron cocks his head to the side, his eyes focused and alert. I don't know if he, too, has heard what I heard, but he sure is looking and listening for _something_.

I smell the smoke before I see the flames.

Cameron says something unrepeatable, and I instinctively move closer to him for protection. "Cameron…how are we gonna get out?"

He sniffs the air. "It is spreading away from us, which is the good news."

I hold my breath. "What's the bad news, then?"

"So we meet at last." I spin around to see Puck advancing on us. "I was wondering when I'd meet you, Damian McGinty. I've wanted you dead since the beginning, and when you kept escaping, I got more and more frustrated. But now, I have you just where I want you." He eyes Cameron, hungry for blood. "And you've brought a friend along! How fun for me." He sneers at us. I don't immediately spot any weapons on him, which is a good sign.

The bad sign is that the fire seems to have changed directions, and it's crawling towards us. The Game-Makers must want to wrap this up. It's obvious that this is all their doing, that they created this fire in hopes of getting rid of at least one of us, if not two.

Me and Cameron, I'll bet.

Puck circles us, and Cameron grabs hold of me without thinking of it. "Oh, what do we have here? You, loser from Ten, have fallen in love with _him_?" His laugh is cruel and cold. "Your precious _Cameron_ isn't all who you think he is. He killed Kurt, you know."

"I know, and I don't care," I spit.

"So I see you don't keep secrets," he continues circling. "Go on, tell me. You were bold enough to tell Panem that you hate the Games. Surely you're bold enough to tell me where you've been hiding this whole time."

The flames are getting closer. Maybe if I can just reason with him… "In the forest at first," I tell him, "And then in the mountains."

Realization flickers in his eyes. "You're the one who killed Quinn," he says slowly.

"Yes…I mean, no! I mean, yes I was there when she died, but I didn't kill her!"

His dark brown eyes are dangerous. "You killed her!" He lunges towards me, and Cameron shields me with his body.

"If you intend on hurting him, you are going to have to hurt me first."

Puck looks at me, then at Cameron, and then back at me. "Alright," he shrugs. He lunges for us again.

"Damian, run!" Cameron yells, shoving me away from him. I am frozen, paralyzed. I see the fire coming closer and closer. One of them will surely die. I can't let Cameron die. I really just _can't_. "Damian, please, _save yourself_," he insists.

And, because I love him, I run.

And, because I care about him more than I care about myself, I run.

Into the flames, I run.

"Damian, _NO!_" Cameron screeches, throwing his body over mine. Puck leaps over both of us. How is he not getting burned alive?

"It all ends here," he says. "It all…ends…here."

I close my eyes. Oh, Death, rock me to sleep now and take me in your arms.

Cameron, fueled by the task of keeping me alive, the promise he made to me, kicks Puck in the stomach, hard, propelling him backwards into the flames, which surround him.

He screams as they burn his skin, taking no mercy on their prisoner.

_Boom_.

Cameron drags me away from there, far away. I am exhausted and am half-asleep as he carries me in his arms up the mountain trail and back to our cave.

"I promised you I would not let you die," he whispers as I drift to sleep. "And I never, _ever_ break a promise."

**To be continued…**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: You should know this one by this point.**

**Note: This is the next-to-last chapter! And I promise this one is a bit more unpredictable. I've known how I wanted to end this for a long time now, and I hope you understand why these decisions were made by the character(s) that made them. References to Spring Awakening and the like.  
**

**Eliminated: Puck.**

**Chapter 26**

When I come to my senses, I see that Cameron is watching me, and I start trembling in relief. The horrors of the arena were over. The Careers were all dead. Cameron and I were the last ones remaining, and neither of us was about to kill the other. "Oh, thank goodness, you are okay." I have the impression that he's been hovering nearby ever since I fell asleep, just to make sure I was still breathing. I asked him so.

"How long have I been asleep? And how long have you been watching me?"

He chuckles. "You slept for a few hours, maybe three or four. I wasn't watching the entire time. When I saw you begin to stir, I moved closer. I had to make sure that you were going to be okay. You inhaled a lot of smoke, after all, and you had a few burns on your legs. I found this waiting for us when we got back," he hands me a note.

_Damian,_

_I am immensely proud of you. We all are. You have come miles beyond what I expected. Return home to us soon, you hear? We'll be waiting with open arms. _

_John_

_Postscript: Your parents say hello, as do Emmett and Gemma._

"It came with something to heal those burns," he holds up an empty vial.

I look shyly at the ground. "So this is the second time you saved my life."

"Forth," he corrects. "I killed Kurt to protect you, and I saved you from Puck. I suppose five times, if you count me throwing myself over your body to save you from the fire."

I bite my lip. "Thank you."

"Do not ever scare me like that again," he scolds gently. He kisses my forehead, cupping my chin in his hands. "I was so worried. I thought…" he trails off. "I thought I was going to lose you forever." He fumbles over the words he's meaning to say. "Why did you do that? Why did you throw yourself into the flames like that?"

"I…" How to explain this to him? "I did it because I love you. Because I didn't want to see you die. I wanted to die before you. I care more about you than I do about myself. I knew that if…if he killed you and I lived, I'd have to fight him myself, and…and I wouldn't win. And even if I did, I'd have to live forever knowing that you died for me. Somebody already died for me—Lindsay. I wasn't about to let you do the same. You told me to save myself, and I did. Just not in the way you wanted me to. Cameron, I'm so sorry. I was selfish, and I know I was. Please, forgive me."

He looks intently into my eyes, seemingly into my soul. "I am just thankful that you are alive, Damian. I do forgive you; how could I not? Yes, Puck is now dead. But now, you know one of us must die. We cannot both win."

"Eventually, they're going to have to say something," I reason. "Maybe this is the year they'll make an exception. Then we can leave, leave together. We can go find District Thirteen. We can…we can be _together_, Cameron."

"That sounds wonderful," he murmurs, caressing my cheek. "But you know it will not happen. Oh, how I wish it could. I wish I could sleep next to you every night for the rest of my life and wake up next to you every morning. Unfortunately, the rules are clear."

There is something I do not understand, something I have not had the courage to ask him yet. "Why do you love me?"

He looks at me curiously. "What makes you ask that?"

"I'm just wondering."

"Well," he sits back. "For one, you are beautiful. You are brave and mentally strong, emotionally strong. You are sensitive and caring and kind. You are not afraid to speak your mind, even if you make enemies in the process. Kissing you is the most incredible sensation I have ever felt. You have made me feel alive. You restored my will to fight, to no longer be a coward. You _inspire_ me, Damian. That is why I love you."

I am speechless. I inspire him? How is that so? I am just as much of a coward as he is, if not more. "I…Cameron, I don't know what to say…"

His face falls. "Are you not happy?"

"No. I've never been happier than when I am with you. But I'm a coward, too, perhaps more than you are. I should not inspire you. You should be inspiring me—and you do."

A spark lights up in his eyes. "I inspire you, Damian?"

"Of course," I say. "So much, every day." He suddenly looks worried. "What's wrong?"

"Just thinking," he says, his voice uneasy. He is speaking more quickly than usual, and it frightens me. Usually he is so calm and speaks slowly. This tone is something new altogether, and I have no idea what it means. "I just…I want to spend tonight awake with you. Besides, you have slept for a few hours. Are you tired?" I shake my head. "Well, then, if you do not mind, can we just be together for as long as we can? I want to trace you, to imprint you on my memory before I go."

I furrow my brow in confusion; what in the world is he talking about? "Before you go _where_? You promised you wouldn't leave without me."

"Just…speaking metamorphically," he says. "Please, Damian…just give me those memories to take."

I reach out and take his hand in mine. "I will." He puts his hands on my cheeks and kisses me deeply, with a fever he has not kissed me with before. It is hurried and passionate, as if we will never see each other again, as if this is the last kiss for the rest of time. He slips his tongue between my lips and I greedily allow it in. His tongue searches the inside of my mouth, and I kiss him back as so, and we kiss, and we kiss, and we kiss. He gently pushes me to the ground, his hot kisses burning my skin as he kisses every available inch of room on my face. "What are you…doing?" I ask between kisses.

"I told you; I want to memorize you." He kisses my neck, brushing the tips of his fingers along my collarbone, and I shiver at the touch. His hand dips beneath the top of my shirt, reaching down to touch my sensitive nipples.

"Cameron! What are you doing?" I look around quickly, sure that a camera is about to catch us doing…well, _this_. "I mean…no privacy…the cameras!"

"But I want you," he groans. "Damian, I want you like I've never wanted _anything_."

"I…I want you too but…I…Cameron…I'm afraid."

"What of now?"

"Of loving you. Of getting hurt by you. Of losing you."

"I do not know why you are scared of loving me, but you will not get hurt by me, nor will you lose me. You should not be afraid to love somebody, Damian."

I reach up to touch his face. "I'm afraid I'm never going to love someone else. I'm afraid no one else will love me the way you do."

"Then let us just love each other for tonight." His hand travels down, lower and lower to my nether regions, and I gasp as I feel my arousal straining against my pants. It's a flurry of clothes coming off and hard and fast movements and oh, he _loves_ me and he _loves_ me and it's _so_ good and it feels _so_ good and it's me and him and him and me alone in the universe together.

And he touches me.

And I'm letting him love me.

So let that be my story.

I fall asleep next to him, even though he wanted me to stay awake with him; I am just too exhausted to force my eyes open any longer. When I wake up, he is nowhere to be found. I at first think that he has just stepped outside to relieve himself, and he'll be back. I notice that his clothes are gone; he has put them back on, although he fell asleep with them off. Where has he gone?

When five minutes have gone by, I hurriedly put my own clothes on and head outside. The sky is bright, too bright, an impossibly blue color with an impossibly bright sun, not a cloud in sight.

Cameron isn't here.

Panicking, I scan the arena. I still don't see him. He isn't by the stream, he isn't by the meadow, and he isn't here on the mountain. That only leaves the forest; but why? I head down the mountain trail and walk quickly across that wide meadow towards the forest.

It's quiet here.

As I approach the edge of the forest, wildly conscious of how utterly _quiet_ it is in the arena now, my heart races. "Cameron? Cameron, where are you?" My voice is entirely too loud for this place. I stride into the tree-lined pathway, quickening my pace as I still don't see him. "Cameron? Are you in here?"

A noise. Can it be him? Or are the Game-makers trying to get rid of me? I look around at the treetops, for I'm sure I heard a noise from above.

I can sense him before I can see him.

"Cameron!" What is he doing up in the tree like that? What is there to see there?

And, oh no, why does he have that rope in his hands?

"Cameron, why are you…what's going on?" My heart is beating way too fast, and my veins are coursing with newfound adrenaline.

"I did not want you to see me like this," he says so softly that I can barely hear him. "I am so sorry, Damian."

"Sorry? What are you sorry for?" I have to get him down, I just have to, if he's about to do what I fear he is. "Cameron, please come down here so we can talk!"

He shakes his head, and a tear streaks down his cheek. This is the first time I have ever seen him cry. "No. I have to do this, Damian. I love you."

"I love you, too." I am crying now as well. "Can't we talk this over?"

"I am so sorry," he says again. He quickly ties one end of the rope to a sturdy tree branch.

No.

"Stay strong, Damian."

NO. I attempt to scale the trunk of the tree. I have to stop him, have to stop him now, have to save his life, exchange it for my own.

I can't let him die because it means I'll die inside.

"I'll always be with you." He slips the noose around his neck, tears freely flowing down from his eyes.

"Cameron, stop, please!" I beg.

"My love," he murmurs, and then he jumps.

I couldn't save him.

_Boom_.

He's dead and it's all my fault.

Victory tastes very, very bittersweet.

**To be finished on 7/25/12…**


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: Yeah, not gonna bother, since you should be fully aware of this.**

**Note: I'm so sorry for that last chapter. Truly, I am. But it had to be done, and I hope you understand why Cameron did what he did. Well, this is the final chapter in The Hunger Glee Games. Thanks for reviewing, favoriting, and the like. I will be starting a NEW full-length story on August 1st, after I get back from my vacation to Canada with my best friend. Keep an eye out for it!**

**Eliminated: Cameron.**

**Winner: Damian.**

**Chapter 27**

_Are you, are you coming to the tree?_

_Wear a necklace of rope side-by-side with me?_

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

I don't know if I want to live without Cameron. I contemplate jumping out of this tree from the highest height in an attempt to break my neck, but before I can do anything of the sort, an announcement is made.

"Congratulations, Damian McGinty. You are the winner of this year's Hunger Games." I can hear a hovercraft above me, and I am sucked into its powerful beam. I try to touch Cameron one last time before they take me away, but they get me before I can reach him. People are tending to me, taking the tracker out of my arm and tending a few minor wounds. They are congratulating me, fussing over me and praising me for a job well done. I don't want to talk to them. I just want to be left alone.

Or better yet, I'd rather be with Cameron.

Apparently I am decreed healthy enough not to warrant a hospital stay, so it's back to District Ten with me. I'll stay there for a while before heading on the Victory Tour to the other Districts.

I don't think I can face Cameron's parents and sisters after he killed himself for me.

Actually, I don't think I can face _any_ of the tribute's families. Is there a way I can get out of this? There must be a way. What do you say to a parent whose child you watched be killed right in front of you? Are there any words of comfort I can bring?

What will I say to Lindsay's parents when I am faced with them shortly? Their only daughter died in my arms. I don't think I can say nor do anything to help them, except give them the small comfort that she was not alone when she breathed her last.

I do not say anything on the agonizingly long ride back to Ten.

If I were not so closely monitored, I would try to take my own life. How do winners of the Games _deal_ with this? How do they live with knowing they killed people, that they saw people die brutally, that they made friends only to see them perish?

I sit and stare vacantly out the window. Cameron is dead and it's all my fault. Why? Why would he do that? He tried to explain, but I still do not understand. Why was _this_ the only solution? I would've rather had the Game-makers stir up something to kill both of us and die together than see him hanging there in the tree.

"The Hanging Tree", the song he had sung to me that night in the cave. Had he known, even then, that he would sacrifice himself for me? Had he meant to leave it behind as a message for me to decipher? Was it something to take with me, to store in the recesses of my memory until I wanted to take it out again on a desolate day? I don't eat, even when lavish meals are prepared for me. I spend my journey back to Ten sleeping and staring out of the window in the observation compartment.

The horrors of the arena, I realized, were never really over, and they never would be over. They would always be there, haunting my dreams, terrorizing my waking moments, lingering around me like wisps of smoke even until I entered old age.

I swear to myself that I will never love again.

When I arrive back in Ten, I am greeted by my family. My mother, tears streaming down her face, embraces me at once. "I thought I was going to lose you," she murmurs in my ear. "I'm so glad you're home safe and sound."

I don't say anything. I'm afraid she's going to mention Cameron. Why is everyone treating me like a hero? If I were a true hero, it would have been I who took his life, not Cameron. I'm a coward. I didn't fight; I hid. Even when I was in an alliance with Marissa, it was she who fought to the death, not me. Everyone else was fighting. I was hiding in a cave, or in a forest.

I never wanted to be a hero.

I step back and my father now embraces me. "I'm so proud of you, my boy."

Proud of me? What a joke. _I'm_ a joke.

"Hi," Gemma, my sister, says breathlessly. "Sorry we're late, but the strangest thing happened to us on our way here." I blink at her. "We were just about to leave, but we found a baby on our doorstep. There was no note, and we don't know how he got there or who his parents are." Sure enough, there is a baby in her husband's arms.

"Baby?" I breathe. Cameron's words ring through my ears. _Perhaps when one person dies, another person is born, and the deceased is, in turn, reborn. _

It's too coincidental to be true.

"Are…are you keeping him?"

Gemma frowns. "I don't know."

"Please," I say hurriedly. "Let's keep him."

She exchanges a glance with her husband, who shrugs. "I suppose if we can't find his birth parents, we can keep him, yes. Would you like to name him?"

"Yes," I say. "Cameron. His name will be Cameron." Everyone is silent. I know what they're thinking. I know that they saw me and Cameron together, that they knew we were in love, that they know how he died for me. I wordlessly take the baby—Cameron, I think to myself, New Cameron—from my brother-in-law and walk away from them, away from all of them. I walk until I can't walk any longer. I kiss my lover's namesake on the top of his head. "Cameron," I murmur. "I promise, this time around, it will be I who will protect you."

He looks at me with his blue eyes—startlingly similar to Cameron's—and smiles, and I know he understands.

And already, we love each other.

Just as it was always meant to be.

**The End**


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